


the beauty of this mess (is that it brings me close to you)

by paintedviolet



Series: i’ve been dreaming of a future that looks like our past [1]
Category: Elyza Lex (Fanverse), QTWD, The 100 (TV), queer the walking dead
Genre: Elyza is a BAMF and Alicia rolls her eyes a lot, F/F, FTWD/The 100 Crossover, Queer the walking dead - Freeform, Slow Burn, Soulmates, qtwd - Freeform, they're both dorks and I love them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 111,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6211873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedviolet/pseuds/paintedviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'This girl has a gun. This girl is not a walker. This girl has just saved her life.<br/>She doesn’t know why this girl has sparked a feeling inside of her that she couldn’t identify even if she tried. But somehow, it has.'</p><p> </p><p>Alicia Clark is alone, separated from her brother and from her family in the midst of the apocalypse. But somehow, Elyza Lex storms into her life with a confident smile and eyes like the sky. What’s worse, she refuses to leave; the bond between Alicia and Elyza is far, far deeper than either expected, and neither of them know why.<br/>So it's a good thing this world is forcing them to stick together, then, right?</p><p>Work title taken from Sleep Baby Sleep // Broods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it’s hard to be a hero when you’re running for your life

**Author's Note:**

> I've created a playlist with a song for every chapter, over on Spotify; the songs will either fit the atmosphere(s) in the chapter, and/or the lyrics will correspond pretty well. Check it out! I highly recommend you listen to each song when you read the chapters. https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/0lYSZLAIfK7JbQccFVdhUM
> 
> If, for some reason, you choose not to/can't reach the playlist, then I would suggest you listen to Broods when reading instead. I created this story to their music, so the entirety of their discography will fit the fic excellently. Happy listening!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alicia's going to kill Nick. If she doesn't get killed herself, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Sleep Baby Sleep // Broods.

Right now, Alicia Clark is absolutely certain of two things.

First – she is running for her life, away from a dangerous horde of zombies in a big, sprawling town she’s never seen in her entire life. This, she knows, does not increase her chances of escaping being unnecessarily mauled by brain-dead walkers who want to consume her flesh.

(Alicia’s never sugar-coated things.)

And, second – if she wasn’t so fucking terrified at the prospect of being eaten alive by this current zombified gang of bikers, she’d be so damn _livid_ at her family. She’s worried for their safety, obviously – she always is – but, honestly, she’s never been this pissed off at them.

Or, more specifically, her _asshole_ brother.

She can feel the burning in her legs flash through her every time she slams her foot down on the unforgiving concrete, but she pushes through. She has to; she doesn’t want to die. She can outrun the walkers, quite clearly, but they’re kind of everywhere and she keeps finding dead ends. Her best bet is to hole herself up in a building somewhere and barricade herself in until the walkers get bored – yet everywhere she goes, she seems to only find buildings that are either too damaged to be of any use, or walker-infested itself. She is running out of options, and still running away from that fact.

(What? She’s stubborn, especially when her survival instinct is involved.)

Alicia is still trying to get her head around the whole situation – both why they’re all in this doomsday style situation in the first place, despite it being six months since the outbreak, but also she wonders what went wrong for her to be running for her life on her own in the first place.

Supplies – that’s the only reason why they go to the mainland anyway. It’s too dangerous otherwise. They need to sustain themselves, but they also need to _not_ land near any packs of walkers, so every trip is a sure fire way to risk their lives. They always collect supplies in pairs, _at least_ , and collect in bulk so they don’t have to make as many trips. Usually, nothing really happens – all they have to do is keep an eye out for any of the dead “creepy crawlers” (Nick said it once and now Alicia finds it hard to block it out of her head) and someone will shoot the zombies if they find them. But that fear is always there, always creeping and leering at them with every shadow cast in the Californian sunlight.

Alicia doesn’t trust shadows anymore. Alicia doesn’t trust… people, period. (Except for her family, but even that’s debatable.) That’s the effect of a zombie apocalypse, she knows.

(Which is great, you know. She’d hoped she’d be well on her way to completing school and getting the fuck out of her hometown, but obviously zombie outbreak had to happen instead.)

So here she is, running for her life. Alone. Probably running straight to her death. What a pathetic turn of events. She’s running out of time.

And she’s running out of breath. She has to stop.

Cursing her stamina, she scrambles to a halt and leans over, hands slapping her exposed thighs while she inhales air like a fish out of water. It takes half a minute, but eventually she starts to feel like she’s not a second away from collapsing any more. The oxygen fills her lungs, slowly spreading through her body like blood tracing the streets on a map; twisting, meandering, pouring into her organs and the tips of her fingers. She gasps greedily for air, and it reminds her that she is alive, she is warm, she is human. So far, she hasn’t died yet. Thank fuck for that.

(For all her expletives, it does comfort her. It’s reassuring to know she hasn’t succumbed to the virus. That she’s not unconsciously planning on mutilating innocent humans.)

A far-off groan alerts her to the fact that she may have spoken too soon. To her right, in the distance, five or six zombies watch her, their dead gazes crawling underneath her skin, as they shuffle towards her. More noises; she snaps her head to the other side and identifies three more walkers – some of the bikers – united in one goal.

Her, obviously. Great.

Trust her to choose such an open and central part of this town to display how alive she is.

(Fucking Nick.)

Starting to panic, she straightens up and surveys her surroundings to look for an exit. The three zombified bikers on her right followed her here, it seems, so she can’t retrace her steps. That’s unfortunate.

The seconds tick by. A thick, muted silence hangs over Alicia in the baking sun, permeated only by the sickly moans and groans of the walkers who have come to eat her.

Maybe behind her? She scans the area behind her: a row of shops, leading to some offices. The road is too thin to lead to anywhere helpful. Damn.

So, forward seems like the only option. Alicia takes the view in front of her – more shops, accompanied by a superstore. That’ll have to do; they’ll have food – and knives, if she’s lucky.

(If there’s the one good thing the collapse of society has brought, it’s that she’s getting good with using knives. She thinks it’s weird, how apt she is at throwing and wielding them, but she doesn’t question it when there are zombies to take out.)

The groans are closer now – that helps her to make her decision. With no warning, she takes off; darting in between ruined cars and clutching her knife for extra protection. She needs to escape, she needs to survive. And, she thinks about what she’ll do when she gets back to the yacht when her hold on her knife tightens – oh, Nick won’t know what’s hit him when she finds him again.

 _If_ she finds him again, she reminds herself, and remembers how lost and alone she is. The trip was only meant to take an hour, at most, so she’d gone with her brother to take a few supplies. (The yacht wasn’t very far from the coast right now.) And they took their normal protection – he had his gun, she her knife – and were arguing when they’d first come across the biker gang. Everything happened so fast – suddenly, Nick wasn’t next to her like she’d expected, but running away, calling for Alicia to get the _hell_ away from the walkers.

Then she’d run. Followed him. They darted into another section of the town and let the exhilaration of escaping death bubble up and were laughing until they were wheezing. (There’s always a rush when they escape death, like they’ve cheated fate. Though Nick is the same as her – he’s her brother, even though she often wishes he wasn’t – Alicia feels it more. Again, she doesn’t know why. Maybe it reminds him too much of his addiction.)

Nick was done with laughing and Alicia was still eliciting breathless giggles, when suddenly, with a wry smile, he pushed her out into the street for a joke. She fell over, throwing insults at him, but there was a smile on her face. Nick gloated about being faster than her, like they were children again, and goaded her into chasing him.

It was nice to be free again, young again. The zombie apocalypse had taken all of that from them. Yeah, it was liberating.

Until the biker gang found them again. Until the biker gang separated the two humans, slowly circling Alicia while she looked on desperately at her brother.

They were outnumbered, she knew. Nick tried to shoot at them – but he was never a great shot, and he ran out of bullets before he could save her.

Then – a hysterical look shared between them, and he fled.

And now he’s gone. And Alicia is very, very alone.

(She doesn’t count zombies as company.)

The walkers are too slow to catch up with her, and she breaks through to reach the superstore. A heavy sigh of relief tumbles out of her as soon as she passes through the frames of the doors; here, she has hope. Here, she may _actually_ survive.

The superstore is desolate, quiet. A lot of the food has already been raided, so what’s left is mostly the non-perishable items people didn’t yet need. Some of the packed food is still edible – thank _God_ , she’s starving – so Alicia wanders around to them and gets out anything can; the pockets of her denim shorts and her jacket are full by the time she finishes with the next aisle. Her eyes pass over shelves stripped bare; she is hungry enough to do so, and she is used to this life. She’s done this a thousand times before.

Cans. Cans. More cans. It gets repetitive, after a while.

The building hums in a low tone, disapproving again of people ransacking its shelves. It’s the only sound that Alicia can hear, aside from her sneakers on the linoleum flooring, and the song she’s humming absent-mindedly. It takes a minute of idle wandering and frequent glances in the direction of the doors before she remembers what song it belongs to.

_Though nothing,_

_Nothing will keep us together_

_We can beat them, forever and ever_

_Oh, we can be heroes,_

_Just for one day_

Equal parts hopeless and hopeful – that’s pretty appropriate right now. What’s more, she thinks, her whole life has been like that; ever since her dad died, she knows, she’s been a bit lost, a bit above everything, a bit out of place. And it’s fine this way. It’s how it’s been and will continue to be as long as she’s alive. No point changing it.

She refrains from eating some of the food she’s collected in order to check out any potential objects she could use as weapons. Knives are what Alicia is aiming for – she’s certain they would have had kitchen utensils in a place as large as this – so she strides further into the superstore, eyes scanning the view in front of her for any signs of unwanted life. The _last_ thing she needs right now is to come into contact with _another_ one of the undead.

If there _is_ one here, then she’s alerted it to her presence already with her humming. With that thought; her mouth snaps shut. The only sounds are her sneakers, and the low moan of the building.

Not disapproving, she realises. It doesn’t sound like that. More like… wounded. More like… warning.

She hikes her collar up and brings her jacket closer to her body. It doesn’t do much – if anything, it just makes her sweat more – but it makes her think of home and what she’s left behind, so screw her if it’s nice to be reminded of a time when she wasn’t trying to escape from villainous undead beings trying to feast on her brains.

Alicia can’t pinpoint the moment when the atmosphere changes, when it becomes more threatening. But she knows it happens when she has left the knife rack, a new weapon in her possession. Although it does something to alleviate the tension in her shoulders and her rising heart rate, it’s not enough.

How many? Will she die?

(She’s so fucking tired of asking herself those questions.)

It happens – all so sudden. She is barely tiptoeing, holding her breath – and then it lunges at her, taking her from the side. She screams and slashes, so the walker lets go of her; she crashes into the shelf and pots and pans come tumbling down. There’s almost no respite for Alicia. The zombie just gets back up again. He blinks at her slowly, blood oozing slowly out of his cheek as in a thousand other places, and his jaws automatically mash together and pull apart at the sight of her.

He’s a mess, one of his arms already pulled off. His tattered clothes are blood-stained, and one of his shoes is missing. As he limps towards her, his shoeless leg drags the other along, like it is broken. (Or, Alicia reprimands herself, like he’s a goddamn walker.)  She has her knife – two knives – out at the ready, but he’s stronger than he looks, and his hand grabs onto her jacket with an iron grip.

She shrieks again, trying to rip his hand away from her. Her thoughts are rushing at a thousand miles per hour – she doesn’t want to die, why the _fuck_ did she not just pick up a gun, she doesn’t want to die, the spit and bile from his crooked mouth are dripping onto her clothes, _she doesn’t want to die_ – and her biggest knife is knocked out of her hand in the struggle. God, she really hopes this is not the end for her. What a soulless, horrific way to go.

She hasn’t even had the chance to say goodbye to her mom. Or Nick. Or Travis. Or – or anyone. She _needs_ to se—

A loud _crack_ shoots through the air, and then the zombie is not fighting her anymore. The zombie is – the zombie is on the floor, a bullet in his head. Heart still in her mouth, she kicks the body in front of her, but it does not move.

Truly, truly dead.

She releases a shaky breath. She is safe – safer. She is not going to die now. That thought alone carries such relief she almost laughs.

Almost, because she knows someone else shot that walker, and she doesn’t want to embarrass herself by laughing hysterically. God knows what sort of impression that would make.

Trying to exude nonchalance, Alicia turns her head in the direction of the shooter. About ten feet away, a girl who seems to be her age stands feet shoulder-width apart, gun lowering just as Alicia looks over. She has blonde hair, a full face, and sharp features, with eyes that remind her of a sky just about to darken. She has blood on her face, spattered across in random patterns, and her clothes – a leather jacket, black pants and top – are much the same.

This girl has a gun. This girl is not a walker. This girl has just saved her life.

She doesn’t know why this girl has sparked a feeling inside of her that she couldn’t identify even if she tried. But somehow, it has.

The girl struts closer to her, a smirk on her face that lights up her eyes. She holds the gun with a looseness, with ease. She studies the other girl – she’s still cowering, back pressed up against the shelves, Alicia remembers – before opening her mouth.

“I don’t usually make saving pretty girls my hobby, you know. Luckily I was feeling pretty generous today,” the girl comments, her Australian accent coming through.

She’s way more candid and sharp than Alicia expected.

So she scowls at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Heroes // David Bowie.


	2. almost a hostage situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Alicia has found herself following the girl who saved her life. The girl who, as she is reminded pretty regularly, keeps annoying her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Top to Toe // HONNE.

“No English? Yes English?” the girl wonders, when Alicia keeps scowling. “Or just perpetually moody?”

“You’re…” Alicia tries to find the right word for this girl (her brain keeps sending her the words _annoying_ , _confident_ , _smug_ , _infuriating_ , and – most worryingly – _really attractive_ ), before recognising that she hasn’t thanked the blonde yet. She clears her throat and tries again. “Never mind. Thanks for… saving me.”

The smug grin on the other girl’s face is just as annoying as her arrogance, Alicia decides.

“You’re very welcome,” the blonde replies. She moves towards the zombie – graceful, almost feline, like she was born manoeuvring through life killing walkers – before grabbing his legs and dragging him away from the shelves. She waits patiently for Alicia to step away from the shelf and immediately darts towards it when the brunette does; at least 5 bottles of water are snatched and stashed in the girl’s backpack by the time Alicia has smoothed her top down. “So, what brings you to this friendly side of town?”

It takes a second for Alicia to realise that the blonde is talking to her – especially now the mysterious girl is strolling away. She tries not to make it obvious that she’s hurrying to catch up.

“Supplies,” she informs the Australian, voice even. Not at all like she was seconds away from death. (She supposes there’s been _some_ good come out of the situation at home before this shitstorm happened.) “Then I got surrounded by walkers and chased off. My brother was with me, but he abandoned me. What about you?”

Why is she making actual conversation with this stranger? She doesn’t know, but a part of her doesn’t actually want to stop.

(It’s weird.)

The girl turns her head towards Alicia, but doesn’t slow down enough so she can face her. “I wasn’t far from here when the outbreak happened. I found myself alone, found a house in the middle of nowhere to claim as my own, and found a few towns to grab water and food and clothes and shit from. This place is still sorta new to me, but I’ve been here before; I know my way around.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “So, like you. Getting supplies. The difference between you and I, though, is that _I_ don’t invite walkers near me by being loud.”

The scowl that had started disappearing comes back in full force. “I thought I was alone,” Alicia retorts. “Big store, seemed abandoned. So I didn’t _invite_ walkers.”

The girl purses her lips in a small smile, amused, and Alicia clenches her jaw. She has to look away from the blonde. Clearly, she likes riling her up.

The girl darts into another aisle, and Alicia trails behind, eyes focused on the shelves. She’s pleased to see they’re back at the kitchen utensils section. That means knives. She dropped the new knife and didn’t pick it back up, so she might as well replace it. She takes in the sizes of them, the feel of their handles, the length and the curve of the blades, and puts all of her concentration into taking the right one. She needs a smooth, sharp knife so she can get a clean cut if she gets that close to a walker, so she walks past the knives with serrated blades and instead focuses on the pieces of curved metal without jagged edges.

The other girl is still there, waiting for her, but has gone quiet. Alicia only notices this when she turns her head to look at her – the Aussie is staring at her intensely, as if Alicia is part of a puzzle she can’t _quite_ figure out. She doesn’t really like the blonde, but there’s nothing threatening in her gaze. Mostly, Alicia is just curious.

“What?” she asks, knife in hand already.

“You’re good with blades,” the girl states, and there’s a tightness to her voice; barely noticeable, but still there. Her expression is unreadable. There’s no regret or hurt in those eyes to indicate an aversion to knives by experience. They’re just unreadable.

Her stomach is starting to churn. Alicia feels it too. She doesn’t know _why_ it is she keeps gravitating to the knives and the blades, exactly, but she knows that in life and death situations she feels better, more in control, if one’s in her hand so she can slash and do some serious harm. They’re not guns, but she’s not a gun person.

(She’ll let the girl take care of that, she thinks, before dismissing that thought in revulsion because there is _no way_ on this plagued Earth that she is sticking with the blonde. She’s going back to her family.)

“I’m just good with them,” Alicia responds. “You have your gun, I have my knives.”

The churning stops; the moment passes with the other girl’s simple nod. Still, she waits for Alicia to choose the right knife – long blade, good grip – and join the blonde’s side.

“We can’t go out the front; they’ll get here any second,” the girl sighs, turning around again and craning her neck to get an idea of her location. “I think… we should have enough time to get out the back way. We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

“We?” Alicia picks up on. “There’s no—”

“Look, I know you’ve got a great moody teenager vibe going on,” the other girl snaps, making the brunette’s eyes flash in indignation, “and trust me, it’s very attractive – but if you don’t move _now_ , you’re going to get killed. Also, that means I wasted a bullet and I hate doing that.”

Alicia opens her mouth to defend herself – but a groan echoes from a way behind them, and she’s cut off by the realisation of what that means. Walkers, and there is certainly going to be more than one of them. Five, if they’re lucky. She closes her mouth with her teeth banging together, and tries not to panic.

“Shit,” the Australian sighs. She is not defeated, though. “Come on, we can still make it.” She grabs Alicia’s arm and starts running. (If her boots weren’t so heavy, she’d hardly be making any sound. She’s quiet as it is.)

“Hey!”

“Be _quiet_ , you idiot,” the girl hisses, and Alicia shuts up again. The blonde is guiding her through different aisles – different products; bleach, toilet roll, dog food – as they run through the store. The linoleum squeaks and their shoes still slap down on it, but they don’t say anything, don’t make any other noise. Beige walls and beige floors whizz by.

Two more groans – not in tandem, not completely separate. Definitely more than one walker. And then another. They’re close, but not too close. They can still make it.

God, she hopes there aren’t any walkers when they escape out the back.

Eventually, the girl leads them to another exit. It’s near the staff area, so it’s a lot tidier, but the blonde still manages to trip over a stray box. She doesn’t go sprawling, but it makes her red in the face, and Alicia is very satisfied by that outcome.

There are no walkers when they push the double doors open and escape the superstore. Instead, they are surrounded by equally as beige buildings, showing signs of damage in a damaged world. They are separated from the world, but at least that means they are separated from the zombies.

(She thinks of Nick, and just how separate she is from him. She’s still fuming about him deserting her, but her heart squeezes painfully at the thought of him being attacked by walkers. She needs to know where she is.)

They get their breath back. The other girl stretches and walks around, chest rising and falling as she revels in the feeling of filling her lungs with oxygen again. Elyza laughs in relief – short, sharp shocks of a laughing, echoing like gunshots – as she settles.

Alicia places her hands on her thighs again, bent over, inhaling deeply through her nose.

(They’re really getting to appreciate being alive now.)

Both know they cannot stay here; the walkers can come through the back doors if they figure it out – and if she’s honest, she’s eager to get away from the store that almost became her final resting place.

(A voice in her head reminds her that she wouldn’t be resting; she’d be walking around and groaning and probably devouring someone’s brains. Then she tells that voice to shut up.)

With a mutual look of understanding, they start hurrying away from the superstore. The Aussie doesn’t grab the brunette’s arm like before – which she is quite thankful for, because that was really awkward. For Alicia, at least.

The Sun is not kind to them – it has intensified its heat. Now the rays beat down on them, making them swelter under the warmth. Alicia feels sweaty and horrible and still a bit shaken, but she perseveres as they move through building blocks.

From behind, Alicia can glower at the girl without being reprimanded. The leather jacket – it must be making her _melt_ now – doesn’t protest much as the blonde hurries; she doesn’t turn around to address the new companion she saved, she just keeps going. Her gun swings low in her grip as her arms swing, and she allows her boots to clunk heavily with every step she places on the ground.

She irritates Alicia.

In truth, they haven’t actually spoken _that_ much, but something about her rubs Alicia the wrong way. Everything the blonde says makes her want to defend herself, even if it doesn’t apply to her. She’s probably reading things wrong, because the blonde has not threatened her once, just shot back annoying comments – but Alicia knows that if she ever turned against her, the girl could kill her in a second. She’s ruthless, lethally accurate with a gun, and clearly takes no shit.

She’s impressive, and she knows it, the brunette decides. _That’s_ her problem with the girl. If she didn’t have such a big ego, she might have actually enjoyed this stranger’s presence.

Too late now, she guesses.

“I’m Elyza, by the way,” the girl – Elyza – announces all of a sudden. Alicia can’t help but whip her head up in shock. “But I’ll take ‘My Saviour’ as well. Or ‘Bad Ass Mother Fucker.’ I don’t mind any of them, really.”

Alicia rolls her eyes – because of course the Aussie would take the opportunity to brag, of course – and snaps, “I wish I could call you _Humble_ , too.”

“Ah, that’s less fun,” Elyza shrugs, ducking right. Alicia catches up with her, watches as the blonde’s eyes dart around the area in front of her to check for danger. “Are you going to tell me _your_ name, or do I have to refer to you as Triple B in my head until the end of time?”

“Triple B?” Alicia frowns in confusion, for the first time noticing the pickup truck across the empty street that Elyza seems to be heading to.

“Beautiful, Brunette, and Bad-tempered,” the other girl grins. (Alicia has never rolled her eyes so much in her life. This time, annoyingly, it’s accompanied with a blush.) When the brunette doesn’t reply, the other girl continues, “That was a serious question, though. If I’m going to know my damsel in distress, I should know her name at least.”

“I _wasn’t_ a damsel in distress, and _you_ are not my knight in shining armour,” Alicia snaps.

“Your fighting technique back there begs to differ.”

The brunette sighs, “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Sometimes,” Elyza answers, as she reaches the pickup truck. She pats its side affectionately before twirling around to face her new companion. The slightest wince flashes across her face when she realises how hot the metal has become in direct sunlight.

Serves her right.

The pickup truck, Alicia notices, is black – or _meant_ to be black. A life in the zombie apocalypse means it has lost its glossy shine; the sides are filthy with dirt and dust, and that’s an observation Alicia makes _before_ factoring in all of the rusty red blood spatters splashed across it. They even appear on the wheels, monstrous cylinders designed to conquer serious terrain. In fact, the whole truck is designed to outlast most things. She wonders how on Earth Elyza managed to acquire this, and keep it running on top of that.

As if reading her mind, the other girl hauls her weapons and her backpack in the back, and starts speaking, just as Alicia scans the open street for any walkers. “Found this at the house I’ve been staying in. Had a full tank when I found it, but I’ve had to get gas since then. Luckily, we had one of these at home, so I know how to ride this baby. I call her Ark.”

“Pretty weird name,” the brunette comments.

“In a sea full of zombies, she’ll bring me to shore,” Elyza supplies. “Did you never do Religious Studies in school? My class was shit, but I remember the story of the Ark anyway.”

Whatever. She didn’t come here to be insulted. But that thought catches her off guard – she escaped the walkers, but what _did_ she come here for? This street, specifically?

Her only plan was to follow Elyza to get away from the walkers. Her objective now is pretty simple; the panic is setting in. As the minutes tick by, Alicia’s family get further and further away from her, the only people who can anchor her to some sort of home – the only people who can stop her from having the gravity of the life-and-death situation come crashing down on her vulnerable shoulders.

She has to find Nick again. She has to find her family again.

She figures it’s time to say _see you never_ to the blonde.

She clears her throat. “Well, thanks for saving me, Elyza, but I have places to be and you… you probably do too,” Alicia starts. She doesn’t want the girl to get emotional or something, so she rushes through her parting words. “I – I hope you survive. But I have to find my family now.”

She turns around before she can see the expression on the Australian girl’s face, and takes the first step towards finding her brother when she feels herself being spun round. Caught unawares, she overcompensates, and stumbles closer to the Aussie who caught her arm.

“Are you kidding, Triple B? You’re gonna get yourself _killed!_ ” Elyza has a look of confusion and pure _anger_ on her face – and wow, she really can be quite formidable – but the brunette doesn’t back down.

“My name is _Alicia_ ,” she retorts, “and my brother is going to die if I don’t find him.”

“What, and you swaggering straight back to the walkers means you’re gonna find him? You’re too late, Alicia! You got separated. You’re not gonna see him again today.” Elyza is furious, legitimately furious, and Alicia finds herself being impressed even more by that.

But mostly frustrated. Absolutely infuriated.

Alicia wrestles her arm out of Elyza’s grip, the fire in her eyes matching the blonde’s. “I have a family I need to get back to, Elyza! If I don’t go today, I won’t ever be able to go. I won’t be able to find them again!”

“If you don’t go today, you can stay at my house and we can find a map and make a plan instead of getting ourselves fucking killed,” the blonde snarls at her, taking a step forward. The ferocity in her words, and her movements, make Alicia step back in response. “I thought you were _smart_ , Alicia, but you seem to have forgotten to replenish your supply of _logic_ when you walked into that superstore. You won’t last an hour out there if you’re as fucking stupid as that!”

Alicia’s back ungracefully hits the side of the car; the heat seeps through her jacket. Her eyes are still locked on Elyza’s.

She can see how blue the Australian’s eyes are. She can see how the other girl’s nostrils flare, and how her jaw locks. She can see how wispy, straw-coloured tendrils of hair fly away from her face with every movement she makes.

She’s seen passion, she’s seen anger – but none of what she’s seen before can match up to the blaze that engulfs the girl in front of her.

She swallows uneasily.

“I am happy to help you find your family, Alicia,” Elyza continues, and her voice is very low, now, but no less demanding. “I am prepared to let you into my life. But I am not prepared to send another person to their death. Your brother made his choice when he left you. If he has half a brain, he’ll find somewhere out of this town and go back to your family. So _you_ don’t have to try and find him and almost certainly _ruin_ your chances of survival when _he’s_ going to be smart and not do the same thing. Got it?”

Alicia’s jaw sets. The most frustrating thing about this is that she knows Elyza is right. Of course she is. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here.

(The disappointment and hopelessness sets in – her shoulders deflate the weight settles in her heart, there to accompany the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s sprung up now the Aussie is so close.)

Finding Nick is a lost cause. She lost him when he escaped out of sight. Finding the yacht, although possible, isn’t an option at the moment, given the fact that she’s not in a position to find them now. She has no food, no water, no clue where she even _is_ – and the only company she has right now is Elyza, a girl she barely knows.

It may be the truth, but she doesn’t have to like it.

(At least she’s not alone.)

“Fine,” Alicia sighs.

At the concession, the blonde immediately backs off. The fire dies down in her eyes like the sky; still burning, like always, but not scorching. If Alicia were to embrace it, she wouldn’t be charred.

She, however, is still stubborn. “I won’t go. But you’re going to stick to your word. You’re going to help me.”

“I don’t have a reason not to,” Elyza assures her, uncharacteristically honest. “The only thing I have to lose is you. And… I don’t know you much, but something keeps telling me that that’s not something I want to do.”

There’s no grin, no sly comment. Nothing hidden from view. The blonde is just being truthful – startlingly truthful. That speaks to Alicia more than Elyza’s cut-throat words did.

Alicia _is_ smart. She always has been. She knew she couldn’t look for her family, not now. But her decision was clouded by a need for companionship and ruled by a panic that would get her killed.

She sends Elyza a small smile – just a twitch of her lips – and sees the Aussie return it in kind.

(She accepts. She’s crazy; they’re both crazy. But she accepts. And everything starts calming down.)

She may have needed the blonde’s rant to make her see sense, but it’s the other girl’s sincerity that has made her stay.

Decision made, the leather-clad Australian yanks open the door to the driver’s seat; Alicia has to roll away to avoid getting hit in the face by a car door. When the brunette looks at Elyza’s face again, she finds that the easy smile has returned.

“Well, buckle up, ‘Licia,” Elyza throws her way. “This is gonna be a long journey. You might as well grab a water bottle and settle down while you can.”

The blonde’s tone has another plane of expression to it, something leaking through that Alicia recognises. It’s hope. As Elyza hops into the car (the brunette joins her in the passenger seat after getting two bottles out of the backpack), Alicia realises she has a smile on her face – because she feels it too. For the first time since Nick ran away, there is not a future only full of despair for her. There’s hope.

Of course a cocky Aussie would be the source of that.


	3. i didn't ask for a show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyza is confident, that's pretty clear to see.  
> And Alicia... well, she gets flustered easily. Seriously, she needs to sort that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Arabella // Arctic Monkeys.

Car journeys are usually better when her mother is not trying to talk to her, and when she has a playlist full of dreamy music playing in her ears. Then she can forget the bumps in the road, the careful gaze of Travis as she stares out of the window, Nick’s self-deprecating comments. She can forget everything.

It’s peaceful.

She allows the music to take her there, to that transitory place that she visits when slipping through music to dive into dreams. The sounds that remind her of hot summer days with friends – twinkling sounds, accompanied by strumming guitars – float to the surface of her mind, put a smile on her face. Sometimes, she wants to live in those sounds forever. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to worry about stupid school or stupid families or stupid college courses that might take her away from her boyfriend. She knows that’s stupid – a person can’t live inside a _sound_ , what is she even talking about? – but it’s a nice thought nonethe—

Her body jolts as the vehicle climbs over a boulder in the middle of the road, and suddenly she’s forced awake.

“Shit, sorry, ‘Licia.”

That’s not the voice of her mom, or Travis.

Everything comes back to her with the force of a tidal wave – the walkers, Matt, death, the Dead Zone, death, the yacht, death, Nick, and Elyza – and the blissful feeling she fell into while she slept is mercilessly ripped from her, leaving sore wounds and scars.

It takes two minutes before the aching in her chest subsides enough for Alicia to be sure she’s not going to burst out crying. (She counts the seconds.) She doesn’t want to cry in front of the girl in the driver’s seat.

“I wasn’t paying attention to the boulder,” Elyza admits, and the brunette’s eyes fly open. “Didn’t realise it’d be that big. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Alicia watches the Australian watching her. Eventually, she speaks. “I don’t want to sleep anymore.”

The blonde doesn’t question it; she just scrapes hairs out of her face, where the wind is determined to push them in front of her eyes. “Sure.”

It’s quiet, then. Alicia moves to get in a better position and rubs her neck. (Sore, from the awkward position in which she fell asleep, but not sore like the wounds she feels.) The driver’s window is down, so there’s some air circulating in here, but the heat is still stifling and she wants to strip herself of some layers in order to combat it.

But she’s in a car, with someone who is definitely not part of her family, and her seatbelt is restricting as it is. So, she chooses not to.

She just stares out of the window instead.

The terrain is all she sees – sandy, sun-kissed, beige and boring, dotted with rugged plants. A massive expanse of flat land, with LA in the background.

She keeps staring.

“What’s your story, then, Triple B?” Elyza asks after a long while.

“Please stop calling me that,” Alicia answers instantly, not turning to look at the blonde. (Her cheeks are slightly tinged with red, and she hates that fact.) Having opened her own window, she drapes her hand out the side of it, feeling the wind caress her fingers and her palm as the truck tears down the tarmac. “Use my name.”

“Natural aversion to nicknames? I’ll note that down.”

“Natural aversion to people calling me bad-tempered,” Alicia corrects. Her voice is level, knowing she’ll only prove Elyza right if she snaps at her. “I prefer the term… selective.”

“Always the charmer, I’m sure,” the Aussie comments, and the brunette has to make herself breathe out deeply so she doesn’t react. Elyza notices this, and grins, before trying again. “So, I’ll ask. What’s the deal with your family? Still alive out there?”

Alicia doesn’t know what to answer, at first. Should she talk about her dad, or Lisa? And, anyway, does she think Elyza is deserving of knowing her history yet? “It depends on what you class as family,” she responds finally. “What about you? Why did you find yourself alone?”

With this, Alicia turns her head to meet the blonde’s eyes. Her cheeks are tinged with red, knowing she may have crossed a line by refusing to talk about her family but asking the other girl the same thing. She can’t take her words back now; even if she could, she’s always held the belief that changing the past does not remedy the future.

Elyza doesn’t offer much in the way of an answer, but it’s enough. “I wasn’t alone, at first. But I lost them, so.” She pauses, heaves out a tight-lipped sigh. “On my own.”

“I didn’t realise I counted as ‘on my own’,” comes out of the brunette’s mouth before she can stop it. She clamps her mouth shut afterwards.

Yet, it just makes the Australian smile. “Ah, so there _is_ a sense of humour beneath those layers of teenage angst.”

“Shut up, Elyza.”

That makes the other girl chuckle.

(It’s a nice sound, Alicia decides long after the conversation has stopped. High-pitched, unlike Elyza’s normal talking voice. That’s low. It carries a resonance.

Her laughter is a reminder that there is still an opportunity for happiness even when you’ve resigned yourself to a life of murder and survival.

Ten minutes after that thought, when Elyza swerves the car to the right in a sudden movement and Alicia nearly knocks herself out, she wonders why she thought about that in such detail. It’s not like she admires the other girl.)

The landscape is finally more densely populated with plants, but Alicia is still thoroughly bored. Elyza doesn’t do much more than sing – but then again, Alicia doesn’t initiate conversation, either – so the brunette decides to take matters into her own hands. Without asking for permission, she thumbs around on the console for any pre-programmed music to help alleviate this tedium. It’s been so long since she heard something other than the echoes of song flickering through her mind, or the bare copies of melodies sung by voice and voice only.

The only music that Elyza seems to have is rock, and she’s not exactly into that as much as she is the rest of her iPhone music. The frown on her face doesn’t lift.

It’s better than nothing, but that doesn’t mean she stops flicking through the tracks anyway, hoping against hope that she’ll hear something other than heavy guitars and drums and people yowling into a microphone.

“Hey!” Elyza slaps her hand away from the stereo. “No flipping. Find a song and stay on it, yeah?”

Alicia sends the Aussie her ever-practised glower, but Elyza doesn’t see it.

“Aw, _yes_ ,” Elyza sighs happily to herself as she spots something in her periphery, before turning the truck off the road and down a more uneven path. “No point in having music, anyway; we’re getting out.”

“What? Why?” Alicia voices her confusion, watching with a heavy bout of trepidation as Elyza eases the truck to a stop underneath a leafy green tree. The tree brings some much needed shade from the sun, but the brunette ignores that in favour of working out what Elyza’s talking about.

The other girl kills the engine, and – shooting the Californian a grin – gets out of the truck with a bounce in her step. Alicia has nothing else to do but follow her; however, she refrains from moving again when she sees Elyza fish out two towels from her backpack.

Something tells her this will not end the way Alicia hopes it will.

The Australian throws her backpack in the back of the truck again and turns to Alicia, triumphant. “Tell me, Triple B. How sweaty are you feeling right now?”

She’s caught off guard by that. “Excuse me?”

The blonde elicits a small sigh, as if she expected this sort of reaction. (Somehow, Alicia feels affronted by that.) “Obviously. Well, I’m guessing you’re feeling like you’ve been dumped in a saltwater pool, which is a feeling I think we share. Not to mention, I didn’t _just_ kill your friendly little walker today. And so, I have found the solution to this problem: a stream.”

The stream is just that – a stream, no more, with moderately quickly flowing water that seems like it will only go up to the middle of their thighs. It doesn’t immediately strike either of them as dangerously unhealthy, so she can’t blame Elyza for choosing this place to wash.

Before Alicia can formulate any sort of response, Elyza throws off the various weapons on her body (a Glock, a larger gun Alicia doesn’t know the name of and two knives), and throws them into the back of the truck. And then, without any further warning, she shrugs off her leather jacket, pulls her tank top off with both her hands, and starts unbuttoning her jeans.

And – well, okay. Definitely not what Alicia was expecting, or _wanted_ to expect.

The Aussie is clearly very comfortable in her own skin, and that’s great, it really is, but Alicia can’t deny the fact that Elyza is clearly very beautiful as well – and that thought makes her want to drive far away from here and abandon the blonde entirely.

(Also, it makes her want to have a long, hard think about what she’s feeling; she knows this sort of feeling has reared its unwelcome head before, but she can’t be confused in the middle of the apocalypse, not about this, _please._ )

“Elyza, w- _what_ are you doing?” she manages to splutter, eyes absolutely, _absolutely_ averted away from Elyza’s body.

Never mind the fact that Elyza has just started stripping off her clothes almost right in front of Alicia, making that damn near impossible; she’s trying to look at everything except the underwear-clad girl.

(Never mind the fact that Elyza’s blonde hair undulate in waves at the tips from where they lay on her chest. Never mind the fact that Elyza’s arms are toned, muscled, with a life outdoors and on the run. Never mind the fact that Elyza has a few tattoos dotted around her body, and Alicia is starting to wonder about the stories behind them, as well as the bruises that have formed on the other girl’s tanned skin.)

“I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and I’ve killed more walkers in the last two days than I’ve had showers. A wash isn’t out of the question right now.” When the blonde girl answers, Alicia’s gaze focuses on Elyza’s face. Considering the aggravatingly huge smirk on her face, the brunette knows she’s been caught.

(Well, dammit.)

Alicia’s gaze flickers between Elyza and the ground, before she makes a decision. She turns her back and walks towards the tree, twisting her hand around to turn the knife. “Fine,” she huffs. “Just don’t be long. Time’s running out.”

She’s not going to watch Elyza wash herself. That’d be creepy, she knows. Instead, she sits herself down at the tree, revelling in the shade and the temporary cool it brings, and keeps her ears open for any sound of danger that might come their way.

(She may be flustered and put out right now because of the Australian, but she’s not going to let her get killed in her _underwear_. Not only is that embarrassing, but, also, the blonde is her ride and her only hope of getting some shelter right now. She doesn’t want to miss that opportunity.)

She hears the other girl splashing the water on herself. She hears the other girl making a few satisfied sounds and comments to herself. She hears birds chirp and leaves rustle in an almost absent breeze, and she thinks this is the first _proper_ moment of calm she’s had since Nick abandoned her.

Nick abandoned her. Fury and despair crash together in her stomach, but she knows it’s hopeless. He’s gone, now, and Alicia will do what she can to find him again – but a few hours after the whole disaster, and she’s already in the middle of some country road with nothing but a stream and some plants around them. Nick could be anywhere.

She’s still going to try and find him. They’re siblings, after all, even if he _is_ infuriating.

“Alright, Plaid Girl, your turn now!” she hears Elyza shout, and her eyes open with a jolt.

“What? No,” Alicia immediately protests, cheeks burning for the second time in ten minutes. “I’m not getting in that.”

Elyza is drying herself off with a towel, staring up at the brunette. “Oh, please, I’m not going to leer at you. You’re probably bathing in ten layers of sweat right now, anyway. You may find me annoying, but I _am_ a decent person; believe it or not.”

Admittedly, she has a point. Still, Alicia is stubborn. She sets her jaw and doesn’t move.

“’Licia, come on. When did you last have a wash? Before a walker got all up in your grill?”

The Californian can feel her resolve crumbling. Again, Elyza has a point; zombie brains aren’t the nicest thing to be displaying on your Adidas jacket, and the last time she had a wash was on the yacht. She’s struggled through a chase, a walker having its head shot next to her, and lots of sun beating down on her in that time.

And, yeah, she stinks. A wash may be good after all.

She closes her eyes and leans her head against the trunk of the tree, sighing, before she admits defeat by getting up and snatching the extra towel Elyza left in the back of the truck.

She passes Elyza, who snickers at her victory, and chooses to undress at the biggest bush next to the stream. (It’s not even that big.) That way, she gets a _little_ privacy, and doesn’t have to watch Elyza continue to pat herself down and pull her clothes back on.

Even _that_ doesn’t stop the comments coming from the Aussie – but, she supposes, that girl would still shoot remarks at people even if it killed her.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those who takes ages in the shower, Triple B.”

Alicia rolls her eyes and dips her foot into the stream, testing the waters. She’s in her underwear only by now, but already there’s some relief in that. Already, she feels less… dirty, by not wearing those clothes.

The stream glitters like diamonds as Alicia bathes. It’s not much – just throwing water at her limbs, torso, back and face, crouching down to get closer to the source of so much satisfaction. The water itself is warm, but it’s a welcome change to the sweat that covers her body, and with every new droplet from the stream she feels the saltwater come away from her skin. The various blood and mud patches are harder to conquer, but vigorous rubbing often does away with most of it.

She rubs the red and brown liquid away, watches it float around in the water. Again, it’s serene, if a little depressing.

“I hope that doesn’t tire you out too much, Alicia. I’d hate to think your stamina is lacking.”

 _Jesus_. Alicia stands up to face Elyza and flips her off at the unnecessary comment. In return, Elyza laughs, an actual _cackle_ of a laugh that makes Alicia want to flip her off _more_. But she knows that would be pointless, and she needs to get dry.

"I wasn't looking, by the way. You're just slow," Elyza clarifies. She turns her head back to the brunette and smirks.

"I'm not _that_ slow." She moves away from the water, up onto the bank, to collect her towel and rub herself dry with it. From there, she puts on most of her clothes, but leaves the Adidas jacket off. It’s too hot to wear it now.

It only takes a few minutes, but it’s enough for Elyza to gather the rest of her belongings and slide into the truck. Obviously, she’s impatient. Of course she is. Alicia rolls her eyes and gets in her side, after throwing her jacket into the back, joining the wet towels and the backpack.

“Ready to go? I promise, my house isn’t too far from here.”

“Just take me there, Elyza.”

“Usually I’d ask a girl to dinn—“

“Oh, my God, just shut up and _drive!_ ”

Elyza’s triumphant chuckle is the only sound between them for the rest of the journey. Alicia’s somewhat glad of that; she’s still smarting from being caught red handed by Elyza for looking earlier, and it’s bringing up all sorts of questions Elyza’s absolutely not helping to answer at all.

So, no conversation, except the sound of the truck and the music playing softly from the stereo. Good. No conversation.

Or, that is, until they come across a walker on the road.

To see a walker on its own is a rare sight. To see a walker on its own in the middle of almost nowhere is an even rarer one. As such, neither of them anticipate it happening to them, on this lonely, dusty road as the Sun begins to set to their right. Elyza is far too busy messing with the stereo to pay full attention on what _should_ be an empty road, singing the songs under her breath as she flips through them. (Hypocrite.) Alicia is trying to alleviate her boredom by throwing and catching her now empty water bottle, and trying to name the song Elyza starts playing before it’s switched to another one. Right now, it seems Elyza has a soft spot for The Smiths.

“Ohh, I love this one!” Elyza smiles to herself, seemingly satisfied (for now). “ _Take me out tonight, where th_ —oh, _shit!_ ”

The tyres squeal in protest of being told to stop so suddenly, grating in Alicia’s ears, and a loud _THUMP_ joins the sound as the truck collides with a body. Elyza’s eyes are as wide as Alicia’s feel, and they stare at each other for a second, hearts in their throats, before mutually deciding to peer over the windscreen to see the damage they’ve caused. For a horrible moment, Alicia wonders if Elyza has run over an innocent person trying to find their way home – and from how pale Elyza looks, it’s clear she’s thinking the same thing.

A lifeless, guttural moan sounds, followed by a resuming of the body’s unnatural wheezing, and they both realise their mistake. That isn’t a human; that’s a walker.

A walker that is currently managing to stand up. Alicia knuckles go white as she clamps her fingers together.

“Go, go, shit, _go!_ ” she spits out, and it kicks Elyza into action.

Face set, cool determination in place like it never left, the Aussie kicks the car back to life and reverses. The screeching is back, and Alicia winces, but she can stomach it if it means she won’t die in a few minutes. The zombie follows, dead eyes latching onto its potential new meals, but it only stumbles forward a few steps before Elyza brakes, puts the truck in gear, snatches a loaded gun from her side, and points it out of the open window.

The zombie’s groan is cut short as Elyza drives towards it, aiming and firing the gun at its head. The bullet finds its mark.

The walker drops to the floor by the time the blonde swerves past it and continues home. And Alicia has to admit – to herself, never out loud – that it _was_ pretty impressive. She wishes she has as good an aim as that.

“Badass, huh?” the Australian grins at Alicia. “You don’t have to say it; I know it was.”

Alicia has to take a deep breath through her nose. Insufferable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: There Is A Light That Never Goes Out // The Smiths.  
> Also, I know The Smiths doesn't count as rock. Elyza just also has a thing for 80s indie music. (Do I blame her? Nope.)


	4. tinned beans are the height of sophistication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyza's house is just a house. It's not a home.  
> But, just like Alicia's own home, it is still bittersweet. And just like home, there is an opportunity for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the plan of the house they're in for this chapter. I made a little key, too, because I am a nerd. http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/141613777929/for-the-beauty-of-this-mess-is-that-it-brings
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: How Do You Feel Today? // Gabrielle Aplin and Clair de Lune // Debussy. The reason why for the latter piece will become apparent in the chapter.

The Sun is almost finished setting by the time they arrive at Elyza’s ranch house. The light is a funny one outside; the soft reddy-orange glow comes with a dark creeping in at the edges of everything they can see. And, despite its nature, it makes everything more beautiful, somehow. Even the bloodstained coat Elyza put out to dry earlier carries a certain charm, thanks to the backdrop of the dying light of the Sun.

She’s getting way too poetic for this. She shakes her head to try and get rid of the sentimental thoughts currently in her brain.

Elyza guides the truck into the parking lot, and finally kills the engine, sighing resignedly. “Home sweet home.” It’s a remark subtly embittered by irony and sadness, and it resonates with the brunette’s own despair.

This will never be home to the Australian, or to Alicia. Home is too far away; home is an ideal not welcome in the zombie apocalypse. Alicia let go of holding onto that idea a while ago.

“This looks… safe,” she notes, searching for something to say. And she’s not actually lying – the ranch seems to be on the end of the Earth, with miles and miles of beige land stretching into the distance behind it. Elyza took the longer route, though, to avoid any groups of walkers, and she told Alicia that they’re not completely isolated from the world. The next town is not too far off, but it’s still a considerable journey. Elyza likes it that way.

If Alicia wasn’t desperately wondering where Nick was, then she would’ve, too.

So. She can’t label it “homey”. She can’t label it as a place “in the middle of nowhere”. It’s just – “safe”, and that is all she needs right now.

Well, she needs Nick to be safe, too, but she can’t do anything about that, not until tomorrow. She needs to stop pretending she can.

What was it she told Chris as they waited by the car? You can’t save everyone. God, that feels ages ago now. It’s no less relevant, though; Nick is still salvageable, but he’s in a different place to where Alicia is right now, and there’s no point in looking for him at this time. She’ll just have to hope he’s still moving by his own volition instead of through a virus; she’ll focus on finding him when she has the means to do so. Right now, she has neither the resources nor the energy to even _start_ ; the impact of the day’s events have caught up to her.

She hopes Elyza has a nice bed Alicia can sleep in.

(Two beds. They’ll need two beds, she corrects herself.)

The Australian is out of the truck and collecting her things before Alicia registers the movement; now she’s noticed too late, she has to wait until Elyza’s at least halfway to the door before she gets out. She doesn’t want to look like an eager puppy following its owner. They’re not like that. She’s not like that. She’s never been like that.

She needs to stop talking – thinking. She needs to stop deliberating when she could be asking the blonde about how she’s going to help her – or better yet, when she could be sleeping. She sets her mind on that and crawls out of the truck, stumbling after Elyza’s silhouette as it disappears into the ranch house.

She’s seen plenty of these houses before on her journeys. They always struck her as lifeless, boring; this one does now. The land around is breath-taking, but the house itself is merely a shell. It is always a shell, and that’s never been more true in this predicament humanity finds itself in. The outside is what she’s seen countless times before – wooden siding, bleached by the sun, cracking and stained – and it doesn’t allow her to be very excited for the inside.

She doesn’t need to be excited. She just needs to survive. She doubts Elyza was really thinking about interior design when she found this place.

Elyza has disappeared into the house, so she strides in that direction. The wooden steps creak under her weight as she climbs, the toes of her shoe dipping into an unidentified liquid, but she doesn’t stay outside for long. Her steps are still tentative, however, when she moves inside; she watches, taking everything in.

The entrance to the main room is illuminated only by light seeping into the room from the outside, draping everything in reddy-orange colours. The wood beneath her feet is partly hidden by the elongated shadows of the objects in the room.

“Shoes off, please!” Elyza calls out from somewhere, interrupting her pattern of thought. Alicia huffs, but complies. (She doesn’t touch the wet part of her right shoe.) Elyza’s boots have been flung off, but Alicia places her own shoes neatly together.

It sounds like the Aussie is bustling about, clearly busy, so the brunette has nothing else to do but explore. Now only in socks, she treads quietly as if she’s waiting for a walker to jump out at her again. She’s in the main room of the house, but she ignores it and instead looks into the open doors, trying to identify the rooms inside. A bedroom, still neat and pristine, is the first room to her left, joined by a more communal bathroom. After that, there’s another bedroom, before the back door. She crosses the main room and finds there’s a master bedroom, complete with another bathroom. The first room to the front door’s right, she remembers, is a garage, and there’s no point going in there. Satisfied, she studies the main room.

The main room of the house combines the living room and the dining room; it’s all open-plan, all designed to be as rustic and simplistic as possible. A plush, beige sofa is turned to the television, an older model that won’t have been used since the beginning of the apocalypse. Elyza’s backpack has been flung onto it; the two accompanying chairs of the three-piece suite have been left bare. On the coffee table in front, a box of matches next to a family photo sits opened, a few matches already spilling out onto the wooden table. In the corner of the room, a piano has been titled to face the room, the mostly keys obscured from Alicia’s view. It’s the only thing in the room that gleams – everything else is a little bit scruffy, a little bit torn. Maybe the family who lived here prided the piano above everything. Maybe Elyza has too. (She doesn’t blame them.)

For the dining area in front of her, the table and chairs are – again – wooden, but they’re mahogany, this time. It too has its fair share of stains, a few drops of wine here and there, or from food long eaten. It doesn’t have food on it now – Alicia can still hear the echoes of metal utensils clanging and clicking together in her mind – but candles instead. Flames are the only reliable source of light now the electricity has gone, and Elyza has already set up various types of candles around the room to accommodate for the night drawing in. And on the table, she’s placed the candles in a line, the smallest candle nearest to Alicia, with the rest being order in height order. They’re all giving off various scents, and although it’s confusing to her nose, it’s not unpleasant. If anything, it makes the place seem a little safer.

Thinking about it – Alicia studies the room again, taking in all of the wooden colours, partly muted in the fading light – there seem to be candles everywhere, on every surface. On the coffee table, on the bookcase near the television, even _on_ the piano. They do their job, though. The colours are only muted in the places where the candlelight does not reach. Otherwise, the place is glowing.

Elyza must really like her candles. And, in fact, the Californian does too. She doesn’t know _why_ , exactly – she laments that that’s becoming a recurring pattern – but the candles remind her of tranquillity, or maybe a past she doesn’t know she’s had.

She dismisses that thought and continues snooping.

The kitchen, like the rest of the place, is simple, affordable. An oven, a few counters, a dishwasher and a sink. Next to the cooker, a fridge stands, turned off and obsolete. Above the counters are kitchen cupboards packed with non-perishable food items, no doubt mostly due to Elyza. Elyza’s also strewn an assortment of knives across the counters, and a can opener. At the sight before her, Alicia’s stomach starts growling; it only worsens when she remembers the meal she was promised when she got back to the yacht.

How are her parents reacting? Have they lost hope? Are they distraught? Has Nick got back to them? She hopes that they stay where they are, so she can find them in her own time.

A thought occurs to her – they were low on fuel. Maybe they’ll run out before too long. Then they won’t be able to move.

She doesn’t want to think about that, not now. She moves to explore further, and Elyza emerges from the bedroom closest to it. The Australian’s eyes fall onto the musical instrument, and light up by the smallest amount. It’s enough for Alicia to notice, though; and it piques her interest.

Settling down on the sofa, next to Elyza’s backpack, she asks what she hopes is an innocuous question. Even innocent questions can have adverse effects now. “Do you play?”

The blonde seems to be caught off-guard by it, nonetheless. Her movements judder, before she collects herself and drapes a tanned hand over the top of the piano. “I – I used to. Worked really hard for it. Got to be pretty impressive. I stopped when” – she does a quick mental calculation – “senior year finals came around, but… yeah. I play.”

Right, so that makes Elyza 17/18, or 22. She’s gunning for the former, not least because of how awkward the age difference could be.

Alicia looks over at Elyza. She may be hardened, but she doesn’t seem to in her 20s. At least they can share fresh horror stories about high school. “I never got into it,” Alicia responds truthfully.

Elyza sits down on the piano stool, but her head darts up towards the Californian. Already, she looks at ease, shoulders relaxing in a way Alicia hasn’t seen before. “Oh, yeah? What did Miss Alicia do for fun instead? Did you _have_ fun?”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Of course I had fun,” she defends, her mind flitting over images of her friends, swings made out of chains, swimming, Matt. Her heart drops painfully at the thought of him, but she’s been thinking less of him, and the deep horror and misery she’d felt pooling in her stomach when she realised Matt was longer _Matt_ has mostly dissipated. She’ll always think fondly of him, but she has to move on.

Yeah, she has to move on. She takes in a breath. “I did sports. Swimming.”

Elyza groans, “Oh, God, please don’t tell me you were one of those awful preppy high schoolers everyone sees in films who cares more about her cheerleading outfit than her grades.”

Despite herself, the brunette chuckles. She knows – _knew_ – a few of those. “No, I wasn’t. I worked hard,” she replies, eyes focusing on the fireplace next to the patio doors. “Berkley wouldn’t accept me anymore if I stopped caring.”

From across the room, Alicia can see the Aussie’s raised eyebrows, and low whistle. “So, you’re a smartass. I shoulda known.” A soft tinkling comes from behind the piano, a mellower sound than newer pianos give off.

Alicia’s eyes roll – because of course Elyza would call her that – before nodding her head towards the piano. “You gonna play or not?”

“I’m a bit rusty.”

“No time like the present.”

In truth, Alicia’s dying to hear something other than the sound of her own voice carrying a melody, or Elyza’s. (And although it’s hard for the brunette to admit it, the Australian _does_ have a good voice.) Her phone died ages ago and, aside from a few snippets here and there, she hasn’t heard much else in the way of music. She’s always had a soft spot for the piano, too, even if she couldn’t be assed to learn it for herself.

Elyza gives her a faux-annoyed face, a smirk dancing from her lips, and gently presses down on the keys. Alicia can recognise it already; she recognises it from the first three soft notes, high and lilting and that perfect mix of innocent and beautiful.

“Oh, come on, _Clair de Lune?_ You chose the one song everyone knows?” Alicia asks immediately, as though its calmness is not affecting her already.

“A _piece_. Not a song,” Elyza corrects her, and Alicia just huffs. “But, yeah. I was obsessed with this piece for a whole damn year while I was trying to learn it. Drove everyone I knew up the wall.” She chuckles at the memory, and fumbles over a note. “Ah, shit. Told you I was rusty.”

“You’re doing fine.”

She doesn’t know why she says it – it just rushes out of her mouth, all at once. But she says it, and she can’t take it back, and she doesn’t actually know if she wants to. Elyza’s eyes catch hers, equally as surprised, so Alicia gazes in the direction of the blonde’s fingers, instead.

Elyza is by no means perfect when it comes to the song – the piece, she means, the piece. The Californian thinks she won’t have had a reason to play for six months, anyway, so it’s not like she _would_. Either way, it’s still pretty relaxing, and Alicia can feel herself sink further into the unexpectedly comfy sofa with every second that passes.

The blonde loses herself in the music, and Alicia doesn’t fault her for it. It’s an escape, she supposes. A way for the Aussie to be herself without fear of the outside world. All that matters is the music, and not the walkers, or the ghosts that haunt her. It’s only there for a few minutes, and she must know that, but it must be intoxicating. It’s a bittersweet semblance of solace in a world that makes surviving a struggle, and Alicia will gladly let it take her, too.

(She has never seen Elyza so vulnerable, so open.

She decides she likes this side of the Aussie better than the confident one.)

The piece finishes, the last note shimmering in the scented air, and it stays between the two girls. Alicia’s eyes find Elyza’s again, and there’s a moment of mutual understanding – a smile passed between them that tells Elyza the other girl liked her playing, despite not saying it out loud. They stay there, eye contact not broken, until Elyza decides to get up from the piano. Then Alicia looks away, the moment of peace slowly dissipating.

Her eyes fall onto the photo on the coffee table instead. An older couple, hands clasped together, next to the piano, accompanied by a 6ft woman, quite clearly their daughter, on the opposite side of the instrument, and another tall daughter seated at the piano itself. The Sun is shining through the house, so the family are bathed in brilliant light. But it’s their wide grins that really bring out the brightness in the photo.

The frame has a chip in one corner, and its stand is barely functioning, but it sits, pride of place, in the middle of the coffee table. There’s an empty spot on the fireplace hearth where Alicia deduces it originally went.

“Why did you keep it here?” she asks, suddenly, as Elyza walks past her into the kitchen. “Why the coffee table?”

Again, Elyza stills (Alicia’s always been good at interrogating). But then she continues, making her way over to the kitchen and flinging open a cupboard. “I don’t know,” Elyza shrugs – the other girl can see the shrug all the way from the sofa. “I think… I thought it was their house, still is, so I might as well respect that.” She grabs a can of tinned beans and closes the cupboard door. “I’m just a visitor here. I’ll use what I can, if I have to, but everything is theirs, whether they’re around or not.”

Alicia nods. “Do you think of them?”

“Sometimes. But like you said; no time like the present,” Elyza honestly. She collects the can opener and attaches it to the tin. “Mostly, I just think of how good a taste they had in food. Plenty of tinned stuff. Christ, I haven’t had beans in tomato sauce in ages.”

“Will the cooker work?”

“What? No. Ovens doesn’t work in the zombie apocalypse. Gotta use fire.” The blonde turns and grins at the other girl, before opening another cupboard and getting out a pan. “Fetch us knives and forks, will you? Oh, and plates too.” Alicia’s surprise at the thought of being fed makes her smile widen. “Well, I couldn’t let you starve, could I?”

Elyza’s method of cooking is rudimentary for the 21st century – or, actually, it _would_ be, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone’s either dead or running from the dead. In fact, Alicia thinks as she looks down at the pan the Australian has over the fire she’s set up, she can’t say that much surprises her any more. Having a Girl Scout camp-style dinner certainly doesn’t.

There are already two chairs set out around the fire; Elyza is sitting in one of them, lazily stirring the contents of the pan with a ladle she’d rushed inside for. She’s kept her leather jacket on – the light really has faded now, and the temperature has dropped because of it – and stuffed on her boots, with the laces still undone. She sits sideways in her camping chair, legs crossed and dangling over one of the chair’s arms, and leans down to put her pistol on the ground, surrounded by the crackers and candy they’d collected.

(Alicia looks up from the patio to the back doors – her knives are still inside. She feels weird without them.)

“I feel like we’re re-enacting a book or something,” Elyza admits, when the beans have cooked and have been ladled onto their respective plates. Alicia can’t deny it; the beans _are_ pretty nice. Nicer than the ones she used to have, anyway. They were probably expensive, once. “Being totally un-classy. Sitting round the fire, eating beans. Thinking about an uncertain future.”

Alicia swallows her mouthful and rest her fork for a bit. “It doesn’t have to be _as_ uncertain. Like, I know I’m going to find my family.”

“Do you, now? And how do you expect to do that, Triple B?”

The brunette clenches her jaw. That damn _nickname_. “With your help, obviously. You said you would, so I’m taking advantage of that.”

The Australian is sitting up properly now, plate resting on her knees. She’s wolfing down the steaming beans like she’s been saved from starvation now, so she just raises an eyebrow at Alicia, a small challenge.

“You know your way around here. You’re good at killing walkers. You have a house you can use for your benefit. You’re… not dead. Those are good enough reasons.” She takes another mouthful of beans, feels her stomach flip happily at the taste.

“And here I was, thinking you’d been taken in by my irresistible looks.” There’s a smile in the words, even if Alicia’s not focusing on it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Elyza.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. Other people usually do it for me.”

Alicia now makes the mistake of looking up at the other girl. The blonde is staring straight at her, biting down on her lip in a smug smirk. The scars and scabs accumulated from a life in the apocalypse only serve to make Elyza look more badass, hotter. Her hair is falling in trussed waves – in a way Alicia would be jealous of if she needed to be jealous – and neither her leather jacket or her top are very capable of restraining her cl—

God, she needs to stop. The Californian looks away, feigning boredom but only too aware of her burning cheeks. She hopes she can pretend it’s because of the heat of the flames in front of her.

Elyza’s chuckle tells her she can’t.

(Oh, God, she’ll never hear the end of this.)

They eat their beans in silence, the other girl’s eyes flashing to look up at her every minute or so. Alicia can’t tell what she’s thinking, and doesn’t really want to know, so she doesn’t understand why Elyza keeps watching her – but she can’t really understand why she keeps glancing back at the blonde, either.

To be honest, she doesn’t know what to call Elyza. Her acquaintance? Her companion? Annoying Gun Girl?

She likes that last one. Elyza clearly has a thing for nicknames; it’s high time Alicia returned the favour.

She tests it out when she asks for a cracker. It breaks the quiet between them; once again, Elyza’s eyes flicker over to her, and the smile that she gives the brunette is, annoyingly, appreciative. Like she _approves_ of the nickname, and Alicia knows just from _that_ that it’s a lost cause. Elyza throws a packet over to her (she catches it easily even though she’s fairly certain the Australian deliberately made that a difficult throw for her) and starts recounting the various different types of Australian food she didn’t like. Some of the stories she weaves to accompany the foods are amusing, and Alicia can’t help but laugh a few times.

She feels like she’s betraying herself, _and_ the nickname – although a nickname can’t get betrayed, _why_ is she thinking like that?

She feels like she’s betraying herself more when she returns in kind, and offers a few stories of her own. Just little things, like the time Nick got a face full of cake on his 14th birthday. Or the time when she and Matt had been sneaking around and managed to knock her mom’s rack full of cookies off the counter, effectively telling Mom and Travis that Alicia was not asleep at 2 in the morning. Elyza laughs at those, lighting up those eyes like the darkening sky, and some of the tension that has settled in her chest alleviates, just a bit.

The conversation is still easy when they pack up; when Elyza collects water from the water pump (“Do you realise how goddamn _impossible_ it is to find a water pump like this now? I’d be surviving on bottled water if it wasn’t for this beauty!”), leaving Alicia to relax next to the barely visible fire; when they move inside to wash the dishes in the sink. The conversation is no longer stilted, and the blonde still quips comments that have Alicia blushing and scowling at the same time, but it is the closest thing to normal Alicia has seen to normal for hours – or even, God forbid, _domestic_.

Until, at the drop of a hat, the situation comes rushing back to them. Back to Elyza.

She’s not washing up. She’s just – there, clutching the plate like she’s trying to break it with her own hands. All the brunette did was shove the knives and forks away in the right drawer, but now she’s turned back to collect the utensils she’s meant to be collecting – there’s nothing there.

“Elyza?” She even sounds worried, now. This night has been better for them than they anticipated. “Elyza?”

There’s a small silence, between Alicia’s breath and Elyza’s exhale. As it happens, it’s a weak exhale, like she’s pushing the words out of her lungs. “It’s been months,” the other girl admits, and she slowly starts coming back to life. Her grip on the plate lessens, and she resumes cleaning it with the cold, soapy water.

“…Since?” Alicia has always preferred people who are blunt in their ministrations. At least they get things done. At least they get words said. The Australian seems determined not to comply this time.

“Since I’ve made contact, and _stayed_ in contact, with a human being. An actual, not-zombified, human being. Christ, that’s pathetic.” Elyza’s laugh is low, filled with bitterness. She meets Alicia’s concerned gaze and jumps back into herself, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just – it’s just hitting me how fucking lonely it was, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

Like usual, Alicia ignores Elyza’s dismissal. “How long?”

A second passes, as Elyza does the math in her head. “Over five months.”

“Five _months?_ ” For some stupid reason, the Californian doesn’t seem to be able to do anything but act like a parrot in light of this news. Having no one for _five months_ seems horrific, an idea Alicia can’t begin to comprehend, much less empathise with.

She swallows and looks down at her towel-clad hands when her stomach drops; she realises that, yeah, she _can’t_ empathise. She has been with the remnants of her family for the past six months – they’ve never really separated until now (or not for long, anyway). They have always found their way back to each other. Elyza just _hasn’t_ had that – she’s been alone for so long, with no one to turn to. How the hell did she _cope?_

“I lost my group,” Elyza offers as some sort of explanation. “It was just a few of us, but they were people I knew. People I knew I could hold onto while we struggled through this shitshow. And – I lost them, and I had to move on, so I did. I ran, and I found this place. And it was only meant to be temporary, but it’s been over five months since it happened – and, God, I didn’t even realise how tired I was of being by myself until you came.” Her eyes widen temporarily, but she takes a breath and continues, setting the plate down beside her. Alicia gladly snatches it up, to give herself something to do. “You were never part of the plan; I was meant to stay here until I found enough weapons to keep me going until I got to Mount Weather.”

That last admission makes Alicia stall. She frowns, confused. Deep inside her, a feeling of unfamiliar familiarity starts growing again. “Mount _what?_ ”

Elyza turns around her, grabbing the pan, and meets her eyes. “You know, that Army base, or whatever? It was a place for government continuity plans for civilians to go to if something disastrous happened in the world. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s that. I was gonna go there, to see the US government were still doing that.” Her voice is smaller, yet still filled with fire. “At least there’d be _people_ there.”

Alicia swallows, sighs. “And then I came.”

“And then you nearly got _killed_ ,” the Aussie corrects, the smile back in her voice. “And – I don’t know, it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss. So I stayed to help you get back to the people who love you most.” Elyza pauses, before announcing assertively, “If we’re owed one thing in this disaster of a lifetime, it’s that. Time, with loved ones. Before it’s all taken away.”

There is so much pain and regret in Elyza’s voice, such obscure hints of hidden memories and unspoken words, that Alicia has to stop walking around entirely. She feels so damn _privileged_ to have her family and her group alive – most of it, she corrects herself; to have the people she cares about not permanently taken from her. And she’s been rubbing it in Elyza’s face for a long while, now – she was asking, insisting, that they started planning even when they were eating.

She feels a bit shit, actually.

And Elyza knows. Elyza knows, because she puts up a hand just as the brunette is about to speak. The other girl smiles, sad but understanding, and talks with as much conviction as she did before. “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say, but you don’t have to say it. My plans _can_ be delayed, alright? But you don’t need to feel like crap for having a family to get back to. And I _will_ help you, ‘Licia. I swear I will. I owe you that, at least. I won’t be the one to stop you from _living_ , not just surviving.”

There’s the same look in Elyza’s eyes, now, as there was from earlier, from when the Australian was watching her inspect the knives. She, too, has the same feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach, the same as the one she felt when she was looking at the blades. But she pushes that aside, because the blonde has opened herself up to Alicia in a way she didn’t expect, and _that_ is more important now.

She has a newfound respect for the girl, even if she does annoy her sometimes.

Elyza must push through that as well, because the other girl’s expression dissolves into a less innocent smile. “Besides, we’ve got a few good days ahead of us before I send you off. We can get up to plenty of stuff in that time.”

The sincerity of the moment dissipates; Elyza’s smile is now a full-blown grin, emerging as a result of the brunette’s groan. A laugh escapes the blonde. But the teasing doesn’t make Alicia’s teeth clench; it’s – okay, it’s not innocent, but it’s well-intentioned, at least.

They finish washing up the dishes with only a few smiles passed between them, and Elyza bids her a goodnight; it must be midnight by now. She tells the Californian to use the spare, red toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard, and disappears off to her own bedroom.

The image of Elyza smiling at her lingers; her words repeat themselves in Alicia’s mind. They do not disappear when Alicia uses the bathroom ten minutes after the other girl. They do not disappear when she crawls into the stranger’s bed, staring blankly at the posters of a woman she will never know. They wrestle for dominance with the thoughts that speak their terror for Nick, for her family – and, at some point in the night, they win.

The horror of the day permeate into her dreams; she dreams of being terrified. She is down on Earth, but not in California, and she is terrified of two things: first, of failing her people, as if she bears a huge responsibility for all of them – and second, she is terrified of losing _her_. She doesn’t know who this _her_ is, but she catches sight of blonde hair and knives plunged into a boy the _her_ loves, and Elyza’s promise becomes twisted into another phrase, a simple one – _maybe life should be about more than just surviving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music used in this chapter: Clair de Lune // Debussy.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering - yes, that is an Of Mice And Men reference there (the book, not the band). Ah, GCSE English, I really, really don't miss you.


	5. what did that tree ever do to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyza is frustrating, and her taste in hot beverages is disappointing.  
> Another difference between her and Alicia is that Elyza is damn good at fighting.  
> So maybe it's not such a bad thing that Annoying Gun Girl's stuck around to help Alicia out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never touched a handgun in my life and the only time a knife has slipped from my hand is when I've dropped one. Nonetheless, it was still cool to learn about them. Let's hope GCHQ don't think I'm interested in becoming a murderer.
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Human // Daughter.

Eventually, she registers the sunlight filtering through the windows. She groans and turns over in her bed, wondering why her alarm didn’t wake her up.

“Get up, sleepy head,” comes from the doorway to her bedroom, and it reminds her of her predicament. Of the whole shitstorm that has got her here in the first place. To add insult to injury, she’s so used to hearing her mom say that phrase that it _hurts_. And – well, that just sours her already disgruntled mood.

Fuck, she misses living in a time where she could  _afford_ to be grumpy in the mornings.

“Not a morning person?” Elyza wonders.

Alicia groans in response. She’s not up to talking right now. She’s not up to doing anything other than sleeping.

“’Licia, come _on_ ; we’ve got lots to do,” the blonde complains, voice close enough for Alicia to recognise that she’s entered the bedroom. Elyza sounds remarkably awake given that sleeping is pretty hard to keep up in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. “It’s not even that early!”

Eyes still closed, the brunette searches around for something to throw at the Australian. Her phone is still in her shorts, which have been balled up on the floor; the battery may be dead, but it’s enough of a weight to put Elyza off from waking her up – or it  _would_ have been, if it were anywhere near her hand. She’ll have to sacrifice her pillow instead.

She slides the pillow from underneath her hand and, with a grunt, aims it in the general direction of the other girl. She’s only going by sound, so she never really had a chance of hitting her target anyway, but the message has still been delivered.

And if it hasn’t: “Get the fuck out of the room.”

“ _Alicia_ , language!” Elyza gasps, mock-offended. “I expected better from you.”

If her eyes weren’t closed, she’d roll them. Elyza has a knack for making her do that.

She genuinely – and very gratefully – believes that the blonde has got the hint and has decided to leave her alone, because it’s quiet for around half a minute. It’s still too bright, but Alicia is doing her damned best to envelope herself in the creeping shadows of her second slumber, and she nearly succeeds.

Until Elyza speaks again, in a hushed, worried tone. “ _Shit_ , there’s a walker outside. No – _two_. Oh, fuck, I haven’t got my pistol on me.”

The Californian feels ice sliver through her body. She’s in bed, in some stranger’s nightclothes, completely open and vulnerable, while two zombies stumble towards the house. This is _not_ how she planned to start the morning – or, actually, how she planned to die. She has an image of herself dying through old age, clearly far removed from society or the undead, and this absolutely does not adhere to that.

A mental image of her family waiting for her on the yacht, waiting and waiting to never find out that she has been killed, flashes through her mind; it’s enough to make her sit up in bed, like someone has shot electricity through her.

“Why do you not have your gun?” she hisses to the visibly panicking Elyza, eyes wide and panicking. “You’re meant to be _good_ at this surviving thing!”

Then Elyza turns around from the window. She, too, is in her nightclothes – a band tee and shorts that don’t really fit her – and nothing about her demeanour screams concern anymore. In fact, she’s just sporting a shit-eating grin, watching the other girl with amusement sparkling in her ocean blue eyes.

Alicia does not trust that expression, not for a second.

“That sure got you up,” the blonde remarks. “Nothing like a fake near death experience to get you going in the mornings.”

It dawns on Alicia, then, that Elyza has tricked her. Her face slides into her usual scowl, but her eyes are _blazing_. The sight, however, makes the Aussie laugh more.

“Elyza?” she asks, her voice dripping in sweetness designed to indicate her foul mood.

“Yes, Triple B?”

“I actually really, really hate you. I despise you.”

Elyza just laughs again – deep, throaty – and starts padding over to the kitchen. “You’re welcome to join me for breakfast, ‘Licia. We’ve got a whole cupboard full of cereal to get through.”

God. She hates the zombie apocalypse.

When she does join Elyza – ten minutes later – the other girl is already sat down at the dinner table, spoon in one hand, a book in the other. A mug of something black has been placed next to her bowl, steam rising off the surface of the liquid to curl around in whispery tendrils; the deep, tangy scent assaulting Alicia in waves causes the brunette to identify it as coffee, which is disheartening because she thinks black coffee is an abomination. Her pistol, already loaded and prepared, lies right next to the mug. The blonde hears Alicia padding about and looks up. “Glad to see you finally decided to join the land of the living,” she notes through a mouth full of dry cereal. Alicia can hear her crunch through her food from the kitchen. “This family really liked cereal, so you’ve got a collection. Don’t get the Fruit Loops one though; that’s gone stale.”

Alicia can hear Elyza eating as she selects the cereal the Australian seems to have chosen – simple flakes, innocent, enough – and pours them out into a bowl. It’s at this moment that she severely mourns having milk in the mornings; in a situation where the apocalyptic predicament didn’t make finding fresh milk an impossibility, she would’ve flat out refused to eat cereal without it.

They are quiet around the table – lost in thoughts, in Alicia’s case, while Elyza is busy reading. It’s a quiet that reflects the veil of calm outside. That’s exactly what the Californian wants, because she’s not a talker in the mornings – or, not a _happy_ talker – and she’s still pissed with Elyza about the trick.

(It was rude, okay? She legitimately thought she was going to die without seeing her family again.)

The only sound between them is their chomping on dry, tasteless cereal flakes – until Elyza slams the book shut and throws it onto the table, eliciting a weary sigh. “If there’s one thing I’m not going to miss in this apocalypse, it’s the stupid stories with their stupid predictable deaths. I’m done,” the blonde grumbles, reaching for the cooled beverage and sipping from it. She nods her head at Alicia. “How did you sleep?”

Alicia glares. It’s a glare she’s perfected. It once made a guy older than her slam into a row of lockers in a bid to get away, and she still cherishes the memory every day.

(She doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’s probably eating someone’s insides right now.)

“Oh, come on, ‘Licia; talk to me. It was just a joke.” When the brunette sets her jaw and still doesn’t speak, Elyza closes her eyes before talking herself. “Fine, if you won’t, then I will, because my patience has gone walkabout. I don’t know how you slept, because you won’t tell me, but I kept dreaming all the time and it was weird, really weird. I was in a forest or something, and I knew I’d come down from space to try and live on Earth, and I kept being haunted by this girl with green eyes. I couldn’t see her face, or the rest of her, just her eyes.” She swallows another mouthful of her drink and heartily ignores Alicia’s ‘I really don’t care’ expression. “I think I was the leader of some people. I’m not quite sure why. Or how. Maybe we just got down to Earth and then I took over. Or something.”

Elyza stops talking again. The brunette vaguely notes that same feeling from before – that ‘unfamiliar familiarity’ – has arrived again. But she doesn’t think about it too much. She just wants to finish this stupid breakfast.

The Aussie speaks again; of course she does: “That’s not like me, though. I’m not a leader.” Her eyes light up as an idea comes to her, and she smirks, “I’m a lone wolf – not good in groups, but great at making girls howl.”

“Do you ever stop with the innuendos?” Alicia snaps, only serving to make the blonde’s grin widen.

“Not really. But it made you talk, didn’t it?” Elyza looks _so_ pleased with herself. “So it’s a good thing I’m like this.”

“Doubtful.” As moody as she sounds, she’s not actually plotting to murder the Australian any more. She’s not really a fan of there being silence in between her and Elyza. Plus, the innuendo Elyza cracked oddly gave her a feeling of relief – and, as confusing as that is, it’s a nice change to the usual miserable feelings she has in this zombie takeover.

“You appreciate it, really. I just know it,” the other girl winks at Alicia. She offers the smallest of smiles in return. “Right, might as well get ready for the day now. I got you up for a reason, you know – finding your family, and all that. There’s a big ass map around here somewhere that I chucked away when I saw how far away Mount Weather was, but we need it if we’re going to get you reunited. Feel free to get ready, too.”

With that, Elyza drains her mug and is piling her dishes into the now redundant sink. Alicia is almost finished with her cereal, so she watches as the blonde slinks into her room to get ready for the day. She leaves the pistol on the dining room table, pointed at the front door.

It’s not long after Alicia gives up with her own cereal – she can’t force dry cereal down her mouth anymore – and dumps her bowl on the side, careful to avoid the knives. As an afterthought, she picks up the pistol and marches over to Elyza’s room, opening the door before she can really think about her actions. Elyza is – thankfully – only looking through the closet, to see if there are any better clothes for her to wear. Alicia chucks the pistol onto the bed and marches back out before the image of a shirtless Elyza can sear itself into her mind permanently.

Alicia has no choice but to put her old clothes back on, her tshirt and pants. Her jacket is still outside in the truck, still decorated with zombie brains, so she can’t wear that. It’s too warm to, anyway. She’s already looked through the closet in her new bedroom, and the girl who lived here definitely was ridiculously tall, because everything is at least 5 centimetres longer than what fits Alicia. Besides, they’re things the brunette would never wear, anyway. Too… momsy, for her. Still, she scours the drawers in here and grabs the socks still in here. She’s determined not to wear her own socks again.

After she heads over to the bathroom to brush her teeth (Elyza has left a cup of water for Alicia to use), she returns. But – she spots a leather jacket right at the end of the clothes rack. It looks smaller than everything else, like the girl grew out of it. She stores away that information for later; she may need it.

The leather jacket triggers more thoughts about Elyza – and it’s annoying how her mind keeps travelling to the blonde in the other room. She’s good, yes, and battle hardened, but if she doesn’t stop cracking dirty comments, Alicia might have to whack her on the head with a baseball bat herself. They’re funny, and also frustrating. It’s an unbearable combination.

(Sometimes, Alicia wonders if Elyza is thinking about her. Completely objectively, obviously. But Alicia’s not thinking about her. Definitely not thinking about Elyza while she’s getting dressed, no.

God, this is a mess. She’s a mess.)

Caught up in her train of thought as she is, it’s only when she skulks out of her bedroom that she realises Elyza has already gone off to find this map. She can hear the Aussie muttering, unsurprisingly loudly, about the garage being “full of shit”, amongst other things. That makes Alicia smile, but it quickly disappears when she realises she has nothing to do.

Nothing to do except loiter in the main room, clearly. And she doesn’t want to be so dependent on the other girl – or look it, at least – so she heaves a sigh and walks out the back door.

The fire is still there, the ashes the remains of a satisfying meal and a peaceful night. The brunette sidesteps them and explores the back of the house. She spots a dog house – clearly uninhabited now – and wonders if there are any dog toys, or outdoor toys in general. She’s bored and she wants to throw something.

She can’t help but speculate on what happened to the family who used to live here. The image in the photograph flashes before her eyes again; where would they be now? Have they got separated? Where were they when they found out?

Are they still alive? Are they dead, or are they walkers?

She hates that vulnerability she must always carry with her now. She didn’t like being vulnerable, and hasn’t liked the idea of calling herself vulnerable since she was grieving over her dad, since her family was torn apart and pieced messily back together. Vulnerability means things can slip through, and this new life is a life that both ensures that and discourages that.

The Californian wants to see her family again. She wants to see Travis and Chris again. She even wants to see Daniel and Ofelia again. Hell, even Strand. And although she has to be pragmatic about this, although she knows she can’t leave in the night defenceless and unprepared, that eagerness to flee is still here. It still resides in her bones, replacing the stability she has always craved.

She strolls along the back of the house, past the dog house and further. She’s behind the master bedroom now, she remembers correctly. There’s nothing here but a lone tree, sturdy but pliable, close to the ranch house – and a basket full of outdoor toys she can distract her mind with.  _Perfect_.

The brunette hurries over to it, analysing the look of each toy until she finds what she wants. Just a tennis ball – not one used by the dog – that’s only just starting to show signs of falling apart. Its startling green colour makes a nice change to all the muted browns and beiges of the house. She grabs it, and settles against the tree, sitting with her legs splayed open. She bounces it against the back of the house, catching it easily when it races back to her. She easily loses herself in the motion, loses herself in her thoughts.

_Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce. Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce._

Life still isn’t stable.

_Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce._

Alicia knows a lot more about the situation than she did before they boarded the _Abigail_. She knows it really is the end of the world now – when people die, they don’t _stay_ dead, and they become zombies instead. It’s an airborne infection, contagious and undoubtedly already in her. If a person gets bitten by a zombie, too, then the infection will change them while they’re still alive.

(She saw that with Matt. He’s a zombie, a _fucking zombie_.)

 _THUNK – bounce. THUNK – bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce._ She misses it that time, and stomps over to where the ball rolls, before returning to her little haven of shade in the bright light and heat.

Although she knows the situation now, she doesn’t feel any less ephemeral. Any less temporary. Every day, everyone flies dangerously close to the boundary between life and death, and even _that_ is blurred now. What once brought surety now brings only uncertainty, and she hates that.

_Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce._

All she’s asking for is some sort of stability, some sort of solidity. All she wants is a place or a person she can call home in a world that no longer accepts that concept.

“Alicia?”

“I’m here,” she calls out to Elyza. _Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce. Bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce._

“ _There_ you are,” the blonde grins as she enters Alicia’s line of vision. She doesn’t have her leather jacket on, either, and that allows the Australian to display her biceps. They’re less lacerated than her hands, and just as toned. Alicia stops looking at them. “Chee –” Elyza has to consider her words for a second. She’s probably refraining herself from using slang Alicia won’t understand. “Got bored?”

“There’s not much to do,” she responds. She scoots up to let Elyza lean on the tree and revel in the shade, just like she is. She’s still a _little_ disorientated from being lost in the motion of the tennis ball, lost in it all. Elyza seems to be a good remedy for that, though.

The map – well, the _book_ – is huge; it’s as large as Elyza’s torso. The plastic covering is falling to pieces; it crackles and spits in the quiet of the morning sun. Elyza sets it down in front of her, and it thumps as it hits the ground. “There are books and stuff. They had plenty of those.”

“Maybe later,” Alicia dismisses. Now she can see the key to getting to her group, she doesn’t really care.

“Sure,” Elyza murmurs, flicking through the map to find the right page. It’s not on Los Angeles, but further up in Cali. The mountains dominate the expanse of paper before them, but there is still a patchwork of roads that overlap and surge past each other, even though the roads are far sparser than what the brunette is used to seeing.

Suddenly, she feels the enormity of the apocalypse. She is so, so small, and she is struggling to survive in an enormous world so enormously ruined. She lets go of the tennis ball.

“Right, so we’re… here,” the other girl pipes up, fishing a marker out of her pocket and circling it around a place called Pismo. There’s a preserve near to where they are, and the creek that runs past them, in the distance. Pismo Beach isn’t the town where Elyza found Alicia, but it’s the closest town to them. “And we need to get to your family. You think they’ll be around LA, right?”

Elyza moves to draw a circle around LA – but Alicia stops her. “No – wait,” she rushes, holding Elyza’s eye contact. She stays like that for a second longer than she should, then clears her throat and looks away. “They’re on the yacht. They said they wanted to stick around the islands. Just so they have somewhere to dock in case they run out of fuel or need supplies.”

“So why did you and your brother get supplies from the mainland?” the Australian frowns, her hand with the marker pen still hovering in the air.

“We knew for definite we could get some. Water was getting a bit low, and there wouldn’t be as much on the islands,” Alicia explains. “Anyway, there’ll be around there. We were low on fuel as well. Our next supply run was going to be for ship fuel. We were going to board at… Hueneme, I think.”

Elyza nods, focused. “Oh, well. That’s ace. We can use that. Our aim will be to get to Port Hueneme, then. That’s gonna be a lot of driving.”

Alicia listens to the wind pick up – finally – as Elyza peers down at the map, the gears in her head moving. “What about Nick?”

“We can check that town I found you in,” the other girl suggests, “but if he’s got any brains left he’ll have headed back to the yacht already. If we wait behind for him, you’re gonna be stuck with me forever, and I don’t think you’ll be very happy about that.”

Alicia stops her examination of the map and jerks her head up towards the Australian, her eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t be so self-deprecating, Elyza.” It’s somewhere between scolding and sympathy.

There’s a sliver of tenderness in those eyes, those eyes like the sky, but it’s melancholic. Like Elyza has accepted some sort of bitter truth. “I’m honoured you think that highly of me, but I don’t mean like that. You’d choose your family over me any day, ‘Licia. I’ve known you for a _day_ ; you’re not gonna abandon who you’ve known all your life for some badass Aussie chick who just happened to save you from a walker.” The Australian draws a square around some towns on the map, and continues, “It’s not a personal thing; I know it’s not. The family we love comes first. I’d be the same if I was in the same situation.”

 “You don’t have to get left behind,” Alicia tries. She’s reacting to the defeat in Elyza’s voice more than anything – the fact that Elyza is _defeated_ doesn’t make any sense to her. Even in the more personal moments she’s seen, Elyza has seemed to always keep going. In the brunette’s mind, it’s a defining trait.

Elyza exhales the slightest way – it’s not enough to be called a laugh, or a scoff – and responds, “’Licia, if we all had that mentality, the world would be even more fucked than it already is.”

She’s right. But the idea of Elyza getting left behind still doesn’t sit well with her. Alicia chooses not to comment, but she makes sure to keep some eye contact with the blonde, conveying her understanding without words.

Sometimes it’s easier that way.

They spend the next hour or so analysing the map, describing every point and setting out the pros and cons of visiting the place. Elyza labels what they’ll need on the journey: gas for the pickup truck, plenty of water, a few weapons, and plenty of stops to recuperate. She estimates it’ll take around four hours, but that it’s possible. The harder part is reaching the boat.

It’s very possible they could run out of time. It’s very possible they might not find Nick again. It’s certain that they’ll run into walkers, despite the long-winded route they’re taking.

Alicia takes it all in gratefully; she doesn’t feel _quite_ so vulnerable now she knows what they’re doing and where they’re going.

“What else do we need to get? We’ve already got enough water, right?”

Elyza nods. She removes the marker from her mouth and responds. “Water’s fine for one person. But we can be smart, we can save it. We can pick some more up on the way if we _do_ get low. We’ll integrate a gas stop into the journey too. I’ve got enough guns, and enough knives, but you need to get equipped. And…” Elyza bites down on her lip. “We need to get you trained.”

Alicia sits up from where she was laying on her front. That doesn’t – well, it doesn’t sound like the blonde’s planning to go as soon as possible. “What do you mean?”

Elyza’s eyes are latched onto hers, skipping between each one as she thinks. “I don’t think you’re prepared enough to be out there,” she confesses. “To be honest, your technique back there“ – she points behind her with her thumb, in the direction of the road – “was atrocious, ‘Licia. I’d rather you were able to really defend yourself against one of those damn walkers.”

Her back is rigid now as she glares at the blonde next to her. “I’m _good enough_ , Elyza. I can defend myself.” She’s had her fair share of zombie attacks. She’s got good use out of a baseball bat before. She’s capable, goddammit.

The Aussie puts her hands up. “Hey, hey, I’m not attacking ya. I’m just willing to give some pointers for improvement. Have you used a gun before? Do you know how to work it? Have you ever thrown a knife? Hmm?” Elyza’s eyebrow jolts up as she quizzes the brunette.

Alicia looks away, sets her jaw.

Damn this girl.

“You see? They’ll save your life. I can’t always pop up when you need me most,” she grins. (Alicia doesn’t even have to look back up at her. She can  _hear_ that grin.) “Seriously, though, Triple B, this is only going to help you. We’re going to be fighting these no-hopers for the rest of our lives; do you really want every encounter with them to be too close a fight? You’ve gotta train.”

“Then when do we go?” the Californian questions, finally staring at Elyza again. There’s no vulnerability or guilt or anything in the blonde’s expression, just determination – although the marker’s back in her mouth, so that’s obscuring the view slightly. (Alicia is determined to not let her gaze settle there.) “When do we find my group?”

“Day after tomorrow seems best,” Elyza reasons. She jumps into action when Alicia starts to protest; her raised hand silences the brunette. “A-a! No. Wait. That’s enough time for you to get used to working with knives and shit. That’s also enough time for me collect what food we have and get anything else we need, like clothes that aren’t gross and covered in semi-human insides. If your boat is so low on fuel, then we’ll have time if they stop at the islands or stop at the port. It’ll take time for them to travel here, won’t it?”

Alicia considers it, tilting her head as she stares off into the distance. She remembers how antsy Mom was getting, how Travis kept pacing about when Strand told them coolly that they were going to have to plan a big excursion on the mainland again. Alicia had taken everything in, wanting to be a helping hand instead of a liability.

(She managed to fuck that one up.)

“Fine. Day after tomorrow,” the brunette concedes, the gaze she meets Elyza with not quite friendly, but quite full of animosity.

Elyza’s face immediately splits into a beam. “Ace! I swear, ‘Licia, you’re gonna be an urban warrior with these new skills. I can give you pointers on knives, guns, crowbars, breaking and entering, all that shit.”

The shudder that accompanies the Australian’s words is automatic, innate. “I’m not keen on guns, Elyza. Can’t we skip that?”

“Are you kidding? No. You’re alive in the zombie apocalypse, Alicia. You don’t get a chance to implement your dainty morals anymore.”

They return to the tree after a quick lunch – a gluten-free granola bar that, much like breakfast, doesn’t do anything to satisfy Alicia’s mood, only her hunger – but now the intention is different. More dangerous. The Aussie asserts it’s not dangerous if they’re safe – “and these are the safest hands you could ever have the privilege of getting acquainted with, ‘Licia.”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that double entendre, Annoying Gun Girl,” Alicia growls, and Elyza chortles as she selects a knife from the pile she’s amassed.

Elyza says they’re going to be practising on the tree they’ve been leaning against; it’s the right sort of tree, not too hard so the knife can get embedded in it. The walkers will be harder to target, but easier to slice through.

The knives the Aussie uses are light, with a pointed edge. (It’s easier to throw them that way, apparently.) Alicia questions the other girl why she’s selected them, but Elyza quiets her by informing her that she’s going to give a demonstration first, and then explain afterwards.

She’s quick – eyes narrowed, body dynamic as she throws, she’s not a beginner by any means – but she’s lacking accuracy. The first knife almost misses the tree, and none hit the centre of their target. They make impressive slashes in the tree bark, though.

The Californian tries not to show her opinion on it, but Elyza grins proudly anyway. “Good, right? Now let’s find out if you can do any better, Plaid Girl.”

Alicia rolls her eyes and picks up one of the knives from the pile next to the blonde. She adjusts to the weight of it in her hand automatically; it feels normal, steady in her hand.

“Okay, first of all: position. You’re gonna be facing the tree, with your best foot forward. That’s my left foot, but you gotta be sure of yourself, so do whatever’s comfortable.” Elyza reverts back to the stance she was in before; Alicia mirrors her, not taking her eyes off the blonde. “Alright? Now, arm back. Not _all_ the way back; this isn’t high school dodgeball. Just elevate your arm so your elbow’s up and your knife’s as high as your ear. Bring it further back though.”

Alicia complies; it isn’t that bad, actually. She seems to be copying the Aussie’s position very well. She sees Elyza’s raise appreciatively as the blonde’s eyes roam across her body. It’s not invasive, but gauging – checking proportions and ratios. The fact that Elyza hasn’t picked up a fault yet – it’s enough to make her smirk.

“You’re good,” the other girl affirms. “Cool, now the throwing. Your grip on the knife needs be secure, but relaxed. That’s the main lesson here – be  _relaxed_. You’ll injure yourself if you let your knife slip out your grip, but if your grip is too tight, you’ll get a fright. You need to hold your knife like a hammer, pinkie finger on the back of your handle. Obviously don’t put your fingers too near the blade, or you’ll cut yourself.” Elyza breaks out of her stance and walks into Alicia’s personal bubble, eyes attentive to the brunette’s technique.

She’s so close; Alicia can smell her natural scent – sharp and rich, like dark chocolate – coupled with the heady smell of sweat. With her face up close, she can see the other girl’s features – a scar on her cheek, on her forehead. The tresses that fall past her ears. The curve of her nose and the unconscious flare of her nostrils. The intense blue of eyes not focused on her own, little flecks reminiscent of stars.

She blinks and sets her jaw – where the _hell_ did that even come from? – but the movement jostles her position.

“Whoa, there,” Elyza drawls, and places her hands on Alicia’s shoulder to put her back in position. The brunette’s arm lowers automatically. (Alicia’s first thought is that Elyza is warm; her second is that that should not have been her first thought.) “You were good. Need to change your hand shape, though.” The blonde demonstrates with her own knife, and Alicia corrects herself. The motion gets a nod and a smile.

“You ready to throw?” the Australian asks, before continuing with her teaching without letting the brunette answer. “We’re not too far from the tree, around six feet, so we’ll just get a half rotation of the knife. Keep your aim straight, and your wrist needs to bend vertically – _not_ horizontally. Oh, and don’t use too much force – just enough for the distance we’re at.”

Elyza throws her own knife again, back in the right position – she flows with the knife, like the blade’s an extension of herself. And Alicia tries to replicate that, she really does – but it’s her first time throwing knives and they just end up missing, or falling on the floor.

When the fifth, “ _Crap_ ,” escapes her lips, Elyza tells her not to expect too much of herself. Yet, she can’t quite shake the feeling of failing herself. Like she’s  _meant_ to be good at this. She wants something to come out of this weird affinity for knives, after all.

She’s quite elated, therefore, when her first knife sticks in the wood. She immediately beams, and twists her head to see Elyza’s reaction. “I got it!” she breathes excitedly.

“Keep going,” the blonde smirks, nodding her head towards the tree.

Her first knife is the breakthrough; it’s the dam walls being burst open. After that one time, she knows what she’s doing and how to execute it – the knives stab the tree with a satisfying _thud_ each time she throws it, and her heart swells at the sight.

She’s getting good at this.

From then on, it’s not so much _how_ she can do things, but _when_ she can do things; Elyza teaches her about full rotations, distances, different tricks, different knives – and Alicia takes it all in like a song to memorise. She handles each knife with care, anxious not to drop them, and feels each weapon become a reassuring weight in her hands. Elyza teaches her other things, too, like how to slash with a knife, how to defend her body; where the weakest parts of her opponent usually are, and how that applies to walkers. Elyza, having had a life alone after the apocalypse, and some helpful training from various sources before it, is the best teacher Alicia could have asked for. She’s fast-paced, but attentive. The brunette realises she’s like that for a purpose; they will not survive any other way. One mistake can cost you your life, but a flawless execution means nothing if you’re bitten or feasted on in the process.

“I spent my first summer in LA on a survival course, with my dad,” Elyza admits eventually, when they’ve settled down for a drink. As the Californian drinks, the blonde plays with a throwing knife in her fingers. “My dad knew some of it already. He was always really interested in this. He was really good. My mom was fucking terrified about me trying to survive in the mountains, but somehow good ol’ Dad got her to agree. Good forward thinking, clearly. If he wasn’t playing mechanic in the garage, he’d try and compete with me afterwards. He taught me how to use a gun, too.”

Alicia accidentally inhales some of the water and starts choking. Elyza chuckles, and thumps the brunette on her back until she settles down.

“Where was he when the apocalypse broke out?” Alicia wonders, buckling under the Aussie’s gaze.

The only response is a throwing knife lodged in the side of the dog house.

“Sorry.”

The silence stretches the distance between them, until Elyza tears it down. “Don’t be. Let’s move on to guns.”

The brunette’s hesitation is not accounted for; the Aussie jumps right into it, picking up her handgun and explaining in detail each part and its importance. Alicia tries to listen as attentively as she can – minus the times the aftershocks of choking on water unexpectedly rip through her system again – despite her natural aversion to the metal contraption Elyza seems to love.

She learns about actions, barrels and stocks; magazines, triggers and the front and rear sights; she learns how to hold it properly and how to stand when it’s fired. Elyza talks about ammunition and the vital differences in sizes, and how to load the handgun.

Elyza exudes confidence when handling these things. Alicia does not.

She tries, she really does, she tries to listen. But there’s something deeper that’s not letting her get used to the gun the way she has with knives, and crashes about uneasily in her stomach. She can feel it stripping away at her ease, like the flesh of her stomach being grated away.

She tries to reassure the Australian that she’s fine, that she can do this. She is _fine_ , she is more than capable. Yet her hands shake and she struggles to swallow the lump in her throat as she aims at the trees.

(It feels… personal, somehow.)

“’Licia, you’re not relaxed,” Elyza notices, the concern that has been seeping through for the past hour settled in her eyes. “You’re gonna feel the kick if you’re tense like that. You’ll feel it in your shoulders.”

Alicia breathes out sharply. “Maybe it’s because I’m holding a _gun_ , Elyza,” she snarks.

“The gun won’t hurt you if you don’t let it,” the blonde reiterates. “Have trust in yourself.” The conviction in Elyza’s voice is heartening, sure, but the Californian is not sure she can combat this. “Shoulders down. Breathe in,” Elyza instructs, and she places her hands on Alicia. "What makes you relax?”

 _Not you_ , is the first thing on Alicia’s mind, heightened by the feel of the Aussie’s hands on her shoulders – but that won’t help anything, so she blurts, “Music.”

It’s an understatement, really. She’s been craving music since the other girl played _Clair de Lune_ on the piano; she underestimated how much she’d missed it. So of course it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Elyza moves away, giving no indication of having even heard the other girl. But it’s clear that she has – because, completely unexpectedly, she opens her mouth and starts to sing.

 

_I don't like walking around this old and empty house_

_So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear_

_The stairs creak as you sleep, it's keeping me awake_

_It's the house telling you to close your eyes_

_And some days I can't even trust myself_

_It's killing me to see you this way_

_'Cause though the truth may vary_

_This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore_

Her voice is raspy, untouchable. Her Australian accent wraps itself around syllables and twists them in the slightest way, but it’s enough to be noticeable.

The sound makes Alicia jump out of her skin; she’s glad Elyza instructed her to keep her fingers far away from the trigger when she’s not using it, because she would _not_ have liked to accidentally shot something at that moment.

“Is that better?” Elyza smirks.

She nods dumbly. Because, it’s a weird truth, that the gun-loving Aussie has calmed her, but it’s a truth nonetheless. She doesn’t even know the song – but there’s a little comfort in the words, in the melody. (She wonders if Elyza thinks that, too.)

 

_There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back_

_Well tell her that I miss our little talks_

_Soon it will be over and buried with our past_

_We used to play outside when we were young_

_And full of life and full of love._

 

And she relates to the words, aches with a new understanding behind them, and she draws on that. It’s a feeling that _isn’t_ her wariness of the machine in her hand – and with the lull of the melody playing behind her, she dips to a place where she’s comfortable enough to pull the trigger.

 _BANG._ It hurts her ears, resonates long after it’s gone. She missed the tree completely, but it won’t have hit anything else; there _isn’t_ anything else.

Despite that, Elyza stops singing and smiles at her. “That’s the first step.”

From then on, the blonde inspects her stance, hands behind her back like an official. She scrutinises every movement, every transparent thought that Alicia seems to have, but she keeps the song flowing even with her mouth closed. The humming is a great help, and it helps to disperse some of Alicia’s hesitation.

She’d still rather be throwing knives, but whatever.

She fires a few more bullets before they stop training for the day; the light is starting to dim now, and the colour of the sky bleeds orange and red. (It’s fitting for a world that has fallen over the edge of the abyss, into death and destruction.) Alicia is happy to put the gun down – she hands it back to Elyza with the exact _opposite_ of a complaint – and start collecting the knives the blonde hashed together and dumped on the floor.

They spend the rest of the night discussing the technique of lock-picking and other ways to break and enter places, discussions lit by candlelight and peppered with peculiarity. Elyza draws on previous experiences in her life, and Alicia is patient as the Australian teases memories of her past.

There is a recurring theme in all of them – she is a badass, she is in need, she is alone. She is alone. Alicia has learned from this that Elyza is the person to prefer the company of a few rather than many; she thinks it comes in handy when most people are walking around, eagerly awaiting their next human-flavoured dinner. And while she can’t relate – to have people in her life who connect with and respect her is what Alicia lives for – she can understand why the blonde is that way.

She wishes she could embrace _living_ , not surviving. And, Alicia notices as she gazes at the Australian in front of her, curled up on the sofa and fiddling around with the hairpin she used to demonstrate with, Elyza does too. But there’s a difference in between them: Alicia is used to living and not merely surviving, while Elyza is used to surviving and not living too.

Perhaps, one day, a balance can be achieved. That’s all she can ask for, just one dream. The Alicia before the apocalypse would have demanded more, demanded much more, but times have changed and so has 90% of the world. Obviously, her past dreams have to be treated like they were nothing, because there’s no way she can ever consider achieving them now.

And even _this_ dream – living, not surviving – is asking a lot of the world. No wonder they stick to getting through each day. They don’t dare to ask for anymore.

Those are the words on her mind as she returns to her new bedroom that night. After the survival lesson, a dinner of tinned vegetable soup and the beginning of a book from the shelf have stopped them from speaking too much. Her mind’s been running wild because of that, but she’d rather sleep; any dreams that come to her are just dreams and blanketing unconsciousness can wipe away thoughts of the people she’s lost, the people she’s trying to reach.

The Australian can’t empathise any more, but she can understand, and she goes to bed soon after. Alicia is already half asleep when Elyza places a baseball bat next to the bed for protection. Through closed eyes, she recalls having a baseball bat during a supply run and knocking off a whole shelf of baby toys – which really pissed off her mom. She smiles at the memory.

It slips away and she dreams of braids and ascension and swords weaving around her like they are made of ribbon.

The sword slices into an enemy and they scream –

And she is awake. The blood of her foe dances behind her eyes, the imprint of a dark fantasy, but that scream was real. That was a very real, very  _alive_ scream.

Shit, _Elyza!_

Alicia is up in seconds, tearing her thin duvet away from her body and snatching the baseball bat. Not a knife, but it was the closest thing to her; it will do. She may have her night clothes on – but she’s aware that they’re sleeping in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and the walker she’s pretty sure is in her house definitely won’t be critiquing her on her fashion sense or lack of substantial clothes. (Elyza might, though.)

She’s not quiet, she doesn’t care – her feet slam against the polished wooden floor as she sprints to the blonde’s bedroom, fully intent on whacking a walker to last Wednesday with her baseball bat raised and ready. Yet as soon as she runs into Elyza’s room, she finds there’s nothing. Just Elyza, whimpering and sobbing as she twists in her sleep. She’s grabbing something around her waist like she’s trying to wrestle herself free from someone’s grip. Her words stumble over each other, desperate and panicky and needy. “No, don’t get—he shouldn’t get floated—Dad, don’t do—let—”

The Californian drops her bat in an instant and rushes over to her friend, gripping her shoulder to shake her awake. “Elyza,” she whispers, her shaking gentle but necessary. “ _Elyza_. Wake up.”

Elyza’s lungs fill as her mouth gapes open in an oval; her eyes shoot open and the wriggling stops. Alicia ceases her shaking, and detracts her hand when she sees that Elyza is fully in the present. The blonde sits up on her elbows, chest heaving.

“You’re safe,” she informs the Australian. “You’re here. No one’s getting hurt.”

“He—”

“It wasn’t real,” she assures her. “It wasn’t real. Your dad didn’t get… floated.” She scrunches her face in confusion. “That’s what you were saying, though I don’t know what you mean—“

“Go back to bed, Alicia.” The tone of her voice is sharp, guarded. “You don’t need to be here.”

The other girl swallows, taken aback by the severity in Elyza’s voice. Alicia came to _help_ ; she doesn’t understand why she’s being attacked. “What?”

“ _Go, Alicia!_ I’m _fine_. Just – leave,” Elyza snaps, but her voice wavers at the last word. She exhales through her nose and closes her eyes. “Please leave me alone.”

Alicia does, picking up her baseball bat on the way out. She can’t stop herself from looking back at the girl in the bedroom, curled tightly in on herself underneath the duvet.

She can’t stop the scowl on her face, either. And she definitely can’t stop the thudding of her heart, or the hurt that accompanies it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music used in this chapter: Little Talks // Of Monsters And Men.


	6. we'll do whatever the hell we want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the previous night's conflict, Alicia is ready to distance herself from the annoying blonde who's tried to push her away.  
> Life's not letting that happen, though. Definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alicia, you really, really can't hide your gayness anymore.  
> Also, I've planned out every chapter now! There will be 22 of them, if you didn't notice already. I assure you, every one of them is going to be entertaining - well, I hope so, at least.
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Last Dance // Dua Lipa.

Breakfast is quiet, as they enjoy a meal of dried cereal and crippling awkward silence. The spoons clanging against their bowls sound like the sharp clash of metal on metal in a swordfight, and every expelled sigh or unshakeable cough sounds like a rude intrusion into the palatable tension between them. The blonde tries to hastily avoid looking at anything but the book in front of her, and Alicia tries to train her glare on everywhere but the blonde on the opposite side of the dining table. _Try_ being the important word there.

The Californian doesn’t notice Elyza’s eyes flickering to her form from just above the edge of the book every once in a while, shame ghosting over her irises like rain clouds. She doesn’t see Elyza’s bottom lip being pulled by her teeth, the corners of her mouth twisted in a frown. She doesn’t notice Elyza’s balled fist, not touching her now cooled coffee. She doesn’t notice these things, because Elyza would rather push her away than accept her help, even though Alicia was 90% sure the blonde was going to die.

(Of course she notices these things. She’s never _not_ noticed Elyza, barring the first time they met when the Aussie jumped out of thin air to save her.

She doesn’t quite know what to do with that fact, and all the connotations it holds.)

Alicia hopes Elyza doesn’t notice her noticing these things.

Her breakfast is not enjoyable, nor comfortable, and she hates that, but she’s got used to it now. She can’t afford luxuries in the middle of the apocalypse. It seems like she can’t offer a helping hand, either.

Eventually, she gets fed up with shovelling dry cornflakes in her mouth, and fed up with knowing Elyza is watching her guiltily. She lets her spoon clatter in the bowl, and stands up to put her utensils away. The other girl, whose eyes have been back on her book again, looks up at the movement and clears her throat awkwardly.

Alicia doesn’t accommodate for her; she doesn’t look back. She keeps on walking to the counters.

“Hey, ‘Licia, would you mind putting this—“

“Seeing as you usually don’t want my help, I don’t see why today should be any different,” the brunette snaps as she puts the bowl down on the smooth surface with probably more force than necessary.

“Alicia,” Elyza sighs, book face down next to the blonde. “I’m sorry, alright? I was scared, I was confused.”

Alicia spins around to face the Australian, and crosses her arms. “You didn’t sound it.”

“I _was_ ,” Elyza insists, the _s_ hissing slightly in her assertion. “I’d just had a really shit nightmare and I didn’t want to be around anyone so I could recover.”

“I would’ve _helped_ you,” the Californian responds. “I would have been there for you. God knows we’re starved for human contact in this world. I wouldn’t have – I wouldn’t have judged you or anything.”

“It’s not that,” Elyza denies, shaking her head. The guilt is still in her eyes, but there’s something new in there, too – like the rainclouds have released their liquid burden, and it’s raining in the blue around her pupils. “It’s not that.”

“Then _what?_ ” She doesn’t care about sounding impatient. She wants to know _why_ she can’t help this girl – this girl who saved her, this girl who helped her, this girl who she seems to be connected to and she has no idea why that is. She wants to know _why_ about so many things – she’s always been like this – but right now, this is the important one. She’ll dig to uncover the answer, and she doesn’t like stopping.

“My dad died!” Elyza bursts, and it rings in the silence like a bullet shot. “My dad…” Elyza takes in a breath to steady herself. The knuckles of her fist are pure white now. “My dad died, okay? We were staying in a house not far from his house was. I had a cold and was confined to the bed, and the group decided to look for medicine. There weren’t many of us, but there were enough. Only one person stayed to look after me while I was asleep, and they went when they spotted a disturbance in the street.”

Fuck. “Elyza, I—“

“I never saw them again,” the blonde talks over her. “I was _asleep_ while my dad was out getting himself _killed_ , for _me_. I was _asleep_ when the people I knew were killed. My whole world had diminished to these five people, because my mom was still in Australia and still is and I don’t even know if she’s alive right now, so I couldn’t think of her. I could only think of my group. And they were dead, gone. My whole world was gone.

“I got better, and moved on. I had to. I had to – I had to walk past the zombie-eaten remains of my _friend_ ; I had to move on. I had to find somewhere else to stay. I nearly lost my mind with the grief – but I moved on, and I’m fine now, even if they still haunt me in my dreams. I’m fine. Don’t question that.”

Alicia gazes at the girl in front of her. Knuckles white, steely resolve in her eyes. A cornflake caught on her tank top. This is a girl who has gone through so much, just to survive, and she has lost so much. And Alicia can relate.

The silence in the air is thick as the brunette swallows and nods. But there’s no animosity, no tension. Not anymore. “I’m not questioning it,” she replies quietly. “I’m just – I’m offering a helping hand. Because I know.”

“You still have your family.” Where the Californian expects Elyza’s words to be bitter, they’re not. Just glum.

But she shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I have most of my family, and an extra bit of family I never even wanted, and another family that decided to follow Travis.” At the confusion that settles over the Aussie’s eyes, Alicia expands on her words, “Travis is my mom’s boyfriend. He has a son, Chris, and – his ex-wife got bitten. She had to be shot.”

“What about your dad?”

“He died when I was 11. So I understand.” The words still sting, like she’s swallowed a piece of food too big for her oesophagus. She tilts her head up as she shifts in her place against the counter, a new thought occurring. “And I trust you, Elyza. I don’t know why, and I don’t know why I trust you _already_ , but I do, so. You don’t have to… I don’t know, conceal information from me. I won’t judge you.”

The blonde doesn’t reply, so Alicia retrieves the trash can and empties the rest of her cornflakes into it. The dining room is filled with that sound, until a small confession tumbles from Elyza’s lips.

“I don’t like looking vulnerable, in front of people,” the Australian admits. “I was vulnerable last night and I didn’t want you to see that. It kinda ruins my persona, anyway.”

Alicia cracks a smile at that, but turns back to the other girl. “Grieving like that doesn’t make you vulnerable, Elyza. It makes you human.”

Elyza is caught off-guard by that – and Alicia can’t blame her, because she is too. She wasn’t expecting to get poetic and deep all of a sudden. But it _does_ make sense – at least to her – because of the whole end of the world debacle they’re trudging through.

She realises – in a world where the definition of humanity is even more ambiguous than it’s ever been, it’s not hard to lose the humanity in you. Every day must be characterised by surviving, by killing. People become hardened, people become warriors. People are left behind and people leave others behind. In some people’s eyes, affection has no place in a world that scoffs at the very idea of it.

Elyza’s more like that – not fully, but enough. Shutting out the old world to get used to the new one.

There’s the opposite, of course – people who latch onto the lives they had before the apocalypse just to regain some sort of stability. People who trust easily and love like it’s the only thing they can do. She guesses she’s one of those, more often than not. She knows it’s often a recipe for disaster.

So, maybe, the hardest thing about living in this hell called Earth is trying to get the perfect balance between the two.

She doesn’t want to be stone cold. She doesn’t want to forget all she is. She doesn’t want to shut herself off from the outside world. She knows she’s _human_ , that she loves and hurts and rages and smiles like any other living person. She knows she’s lost some and she knows she’s held onto others, too. But she also knows what must happen if she wants to survive, and what she must leave behind. She knows she must become a warrior; it’s vital. She wants to find that balance between her head and her heart, though, because that’s the only way she thinks she can stomach living a life where she might die every day.

She tries. Elyza should as well, if she’s not already.

Eventually, Elyza regains herself – starting from the lazy smile she gives to Alicia when Alicia takes away her bowl and coffee for her. Her shoulders relax, her eyes shine again, she resumes reading, and the silence doesn’t hang as heavy anymore. Alicia can feel herself relaxing, too. She’s not going to blame the blonde for grieving over a death.

God knows she’s doing that, too.

(They all are. Everyone has lost someone.)

By the time the Australian puts down her book again (the scowl on her face tells the brunette that the book was just as disappointing as the one from yesterday), Alicia has managed to clean the coffee mug and the bowls with some of the bottled water on the countertop. As such, she’s got used to the silence, so she startles when she hears Elyza’s chair scraping against the wooden floor.

“Alright,” Elyza grins, as the Californian turns around, curious. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Clichéd or what?”

“Hey, I like to be dramatic,” Elyza smirks as she saunters past the brunette, into her bedroom.

She’s being dramatic, yes, but she’s not actually that far from the truth. It takes them half an hour, but eventually they are ready to go out into the world.

It takes them half an hour because somehow – God knows how – the Australian manages to lose various components to her guns as soon as she finds the previous component. Alicia is already dressed and ready to go, with a baseball bat splayed across her lap. She sits on the porch of the house, her feet carefully avoiding that weird stain on that wooden step, and thoughtlessly twirls her knife in her hand as she waits. For a good twenty minutes, all she can hear is Elyza cursing and groaning about these stupid cartridges or whatever.

Alicia still doesn’t get guns, and she still doesn’t care enough to wield one once more. Elyza has made her try once, and she doesn’t want to do it again.

“Elyza, hurry _up_ , we need to go!” she yells for the fifteenth time, craning her head over her shoulder to scan the inside of the main room. She can’t see the blonde, but they can hear each other.

“Would you rather we get to a town later with the proper protection, or we go earlier but I get my face blown off?” Elyza shouts back, words muffled by the distance.

“I don’t _care_ about your proper protection; I’m _bored_ ,” the Californian whines.

“Protection’s always crucial if you don’t want any accidents; I’m living proof of that,” comes the reply.

Alicia’s face drops – from the corners of her mouth being turned down mildly, to a full-on frown, complete with eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t need to know that!”

Finally – _fucking finally_ – Elyza emerges with the weaponry she wants. Clad in her leather jacket, scummy ripped jeans and obsidian tank top, and wearing different accessories designed to accommodate the guns in her hands with her backpack strung over one shoulder, she looks every part the badass zombie killer her ego wants her to be.

But Alicia knows Elyza plays some of the most beautiful pieces on the piano, and has a secret adoration for One Direction. (That was one of the perks of their conversation last night – Elyza let slip she saw them in Sydney last year and, despite the look of thunder on her face whenever Alicia mentions it, the Californian hasn’t let her forget it since. Alicia also knows that her favourite was Zayn, which she approves of.) She knows that Elyza snores and will happily talk for an hour about her truck. She knows Elyza scrunches her nose when she laughs and she should _not_ know this, should not _want_ to know this, but she does.

It’s weird, she thinks; this is her third day of knowing the Australian, and already knows some of the other girl’s more personal facts.

This is her third day of knowing Elyza, and she also already knows that the girl’s love for the pickup truck (“Oi, you have to call her _Ark_. She gets offended easily, don’t ya, Ark?”) goes way beyond what normal car owners feel for their vehicles. She’s not surprised, then, that Elyza’s grin is wide when she chucks her extra gun and backpack in the back, next to Alicia’s baseball bat, and climbs in. Alicia’s already inside, seatbelt on – she knows she’ll need it – and waiting impatiently to just get this over with. The sooner they get this over with, the sooner Alicia can find Madison and Travis and Chris – and if she’s lucky, Nick.

(That _asshole_. She hopes to high heaven that she’ll see his face again.)

Alicia rolls her eyes at Elyza’s superficial apology about being late; she can tell the Australian doesn’t mean it at all by the little smirk on her face. The brunette consequently decides not to talk for the duration of the journey.

So if she mutters a, “Thanks,” when Elyza hands her the map in her hand, and tells her to start looking for gas stations, it doesn’t mean anything. When Elyza starts singing along to the old rock song playing on the CD and she smiles at the sound, it doesn’t mean anything. She’s still tired. Elyza may be acting like her normal self now, but Alicia’s interrupted sleep wasn’t easy to claw back again, not when the feelings of hurt were stinging her insides like whiplash.

Also, Elyza was late, so. It doesn’t mean anything.

(It shouldn’t, anyway. But she can’t deny it does.)

The landscape is boring, again, but Alicia tries to find some comfort in it. California is where she’s lived all her life, after all, and it’ll always call to a tiny, tiny place inside of her. Whereas the house she lived in is gone, she thinks she’ll always want to come back to this place.

Maybe not for memories – not all are good, not all of them can be good – but for that feeling of peace she’ll sometimes get when she’s driving on a lonely Cali road in the car.

Like she is now. Except she’s in a pickup truck that has a name like it’s a pet, and she’s sitting next to a larger-than-life blonde she’s known for less than a week.

She does try, but she can’t really cling onto normality anymore. Normality doesn’t have place here, like home no longer exists.

The song Elyza’s singing is a slow tempo one, a ballad, and she’s practically crooning to Alicia. Alicia isn’t really doing what she’s told anymore; she hasn’t looked at the map for five minutes, and her eyes prefer to glance at every other object except the human in front of her. When she does make the mistake of looking at the other girl, it’s when Elyza’s singing a particularly cheesy romantic lyric, and her hand is outstretched towards the brunette. It’s all in good fun, and Alicia can’t help the small smile that escapes from her lips when she notices it. That small action makes the grin on Elyza’s face wider – and Alicia is left thinking that Elyza’s smile isn’t just a smile, it’s an extension of who she is. It’s all the fervour Elyza keeps inside herself.

She thinks it’s more impressive (or, to put it in a blunter way, more dazzling) than Elyza’s badass persona.

Then she scolds herself for thinking such a weird thought, and glances away to gaze at the scenery outside the truck again, not liking the heat that she knows is rushing to her cheeks.

(Fuck.)

Elyza takes the smile to mean she’s won this particular battle, and she starts talking over the song about their day’s excursion. They’re on their way to Edna, where they can find a clothes shop, and, if all things going to plan, a gas station. Ark’s running out of gas, slowly but surely, and Elyza doesn’t want her baby to cark it. (Alicia figures that means she doesn’t want the truck to die.) The brunette never actually asks for all this information, but the other girl seems to be determined to give it to her, so the only acknowledgement she gives the Aussie is her eye contact.

She can’t be bothered to reply.

And that’s fine, it really is; the blonde somehow knows how she works. Elyza keeps talking, and singing, and laughing at her own terrible jokes. And – okay, sure, Alicia laughs at them, too, but _only_ because they’re so bad they make her groan. (She’s always prided herself on having a more sophisticated sense of humour, or at least aspired to achieve that.) She isn’t reacting to Elyza’s self-congratulating laugh, as low and pleasant as it is, and she isn’t reacting to Elyza’s contagious silliness. For God’s sake, she’s _not_ doing that.

When the Australian parks the truck in Edna and jumps out, it’s all in one fluid motion. But it’s only seconds later that the Californian is out of the pickup truck herself; she meets Elyza on the opposite side of the back of the truck as they gather their belongings. Alicia picks up the baseball bat as Elyza straps her gun to her back and slings her backpack around one shoulder. Again, it’s all fluid, as if her body is responding to the situation at hand like a panther moves in the jungle – instinctual, visceral.

The bat feels good, hefty, in the brunette’s hands. She could do some real damage with this, if she has to. But she’s probably better with the knife she has, now clasped in her right hand, while her baseball rests at her side in her left. Her knife is a comforting weight if ever there was one.

(She’s often started thinking about how her past self would react to this image of her – standing in the middle of a foreign town, weapons in her hand, a grim expression on her face – but she dissuades herself, every time. She likes being in the present, not the past. She’s trying to make sure she lives up to the pact she’s made with herself to honour that.)

“You know why we’re in the centre of town, right?” Elyza quizzes the brunette as she starts walking.

Alicia joins her side, gazing at all the broken houses in the distance with a lump in her throat, and shakes her head. “Is it safer?”

“As safe as safe gets here,” the blonde replies, squinting against the sunlight in her eyes. She yanks her backpack around and opens it up, fishing out a pair of dark, rounded sunglasses and putting them on. (Looks like Alicia will just have to suffer without any.) “There’s a pattern I’ve found, a pattern to what’s destroyed by the Army and why.”

They turn onto another street, taking in the decrepit, battle-worn buildings that wouldn’t look out of place in a gritty horror film, and Alicia arches her eyebrow at Elyza in question before returning her gaze on the street in front of her. This place is more intact, which is more than can be said for the rubble in the distance.

“Big cities are napalmed, yeah, but towns like this aren’t worth that,” the blonde explains. “Napalm’s too valuable to waste on a place like this. So they just… burn the residential places instead. People usually go back to their homes when tough shit happens, and the end of the world sure as hell isn’t any different. The army just capitalised on that, that’s all. So if there are gonna be any zombies, most of ‘em will be in the rubble. Some will come here, but not too many. Less people here got fired at.”

And although it’s definitely not happy news – when is anything happy anymore? – it’s reassuring to hear that the chance of them getting attacked is lower. Still, the sight of all the burned houses and the thought of struggling people who used to live here—

It’s not a thought she likes. She doesn’t like it at all. It reminds her too much of Cobalt. It’s not like she hasn’t seen this all before, but the lump in her throat is suddenly impossible to swallow – and God, she hates this, she hates this.

“’Licia?” Elyza’s in front of her in a second. “’Licia, you okay? You don’t look great.”

“I—” she chokes on her own words. Her breathing has accelerated, but mostly she’s just annoyed at herself for getting stuck in the past. She can’t do anything to help these people. She _can’t_. They’re _dead_. There’s no point in getting panicked over it. So she tries not to, she tries not to.

Elyza’s touch is soft, comforting, on her arm, and it helps to finish what her self-directed anger has started. “Hey, hey. You’ve got no time for a panic attack, you hear? You’re in the here and now, no matter how much we hate that. Plus, it’d be a little difficult if a zombie tried to attack while you were finding it hard to breathe. Just breathe, ‘Licia.”

It takes a few minutes, but she doesn’t stop trying throughout all of it. It’s kind of hard, though, when it feels like her thoughts are struggling through a mile of slow-moving treacle.

“I’m fine,” she manages to get out. Her breathing is getting back to normal now. “I just – sorry. Bad memories.”

“Don’t apologise; we’re all like that.” The Australian still hasn’t let go of her arms.

Her lungs fill with air; a slow, long inhalation that tells her she’s settled down now. She nods and swallows, and looks back up at Elyza. “Okay.”

“Okay.” A pause. “You were part of it, weren’t you? You escaped the Army?”

“Yeah.” Alicia’s admission is a quiet one. “And we watched everything burn, on the boat. Everything burned in front of us.”

“Shit, man. Glad we were far away from that.”

Alicia gently places her hand on Elyza’s, and the blonde complies; the hands on her upper arms come off, and Alicia is free to step forward. So she does, and with confident strides she starts marching down the street, anxious to get away from what’s just happened. “We both got lucky that we were able to move on from that.”

“Sure.” The blonde’s response is a little hesitant, but it’s there nonetheless. As she catches up, she instructs, “Turn right here.”

The town has a few outlets for the residents, but the two girls aren’t interested in anything but the clothes stores. They’re in luck; there’s one at the end of the street that doesn’t look like it’s been wrecked by burning, so they head in there as quickly as they can.

The first observation that Alicia makes, once Elyza opens the door to the store, is that it’s dusty, really fucking dusty. _Everything_ is covered by at least an inch of dust, and it’s all the brunette can do to stop herself from inhaling too much of it. Elyza isn’t so lucky – the coat she brushes by has so much dust billowing off it that the Australian almost coughs up a lung when she gets caught up in the cloud. The brunette has to rush over to her and whack her on the back a few times before she stops and gestures to her backpack. The Californian complies, and fishes out a water bottle from its dark depths to hold to Elyza’s lips as another coughing fit takes over the blonde’s body.

When the dust settles, and Elyza’s coughing has refrained for a second, she greedily gulps down the liquid and gives Alicia a thumbs up.

She releases the breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

After that, they do their best to turn their heads _away_ from the clothes as they inspect them (they certainly don’t want to use up all their water through coughing fits). This floor seems to hold all the young adult clothes, and Alicia is thankful that they won’t have to wear old people’s clothes because there’s nothing else available.

She’s also thankful that there aren’t any zombies around yet. If there were, they would’ve heard Elyza’s impressively deafening coughs and stumbled towards the sound in their hungry curiosity. She thinks they’re safe for now.

She repeats Elyza’s phrase in her head – as safe as safe gets.

The Aussie is drumming a beat – or maybe a melody – on her pistol as she sets her sunglasses onto the top of her head and walks straight towards the darker clothes. As soon as she arrives, the other girl latches onto the ripped jeans on show, and yanks her head away at the last minute as she goes through the sizes.

Meanwhile, Alicia searches around for new tops. She can’t always see the designs – the Sun’s too bright, and the dust is too thick – but some of them are bold enough to get her attention. She wanders over to the shorts pile and picks up an average looking pair of denim shorts, before she spots what she presumes is a patterned top, sporting a box with the words _PROPERTY OF NO_ ONE. Curious, she finds the right size and, satisfied, she takes it off the rack. This top is less dusty, being behind the other tops, and she still likes the design, so she keeps it. She’s perfectly happy to stick with just that until her eyes fall upon the plaid shirts up ahead, and her legs automatically take her to them.

Elyza has already picked out ripped jeans that are virtually identical to her current ones – except this pair isn’t stained and bloody. The brunette can see her head pop up from behind the clothes rack, and she watches as Elyza spots her.

The blonde starts smirking. That’s never a good sign.

“That’s pretty gay of you, Triple B,” the Aussie smirks, motioning to the flannel shirts Alicia’s surrounded by with her gun hand. “You sure you’re straight?”

“Fuck off, Elyza,” Alicia retorts _ever_ so eloquently, flipping her off to really send the message home. _Yes_ , she’s fully aware that she’s immersed herself in a gay stereotype, and has done so before. And _yes_ , she’s aware she’s blushing.

She’s also aware that her thoughts haven’t been very straight lately, and that it’s not a new occurrence – it’s a resurgence. She’s never quite been the outstanding heterosexual people think she is. But she’s in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, and in a strange town to boot, so she’ll deal with that _later_.

Maybe when she’s not in Elyza’s presence, because right now the blonde is flitting excitedly to the tank top section and Alicia really does have a weakness for that lau—

And of course Elyza has to be taking her leather jacket and tank top off. Of course she fucking does.

It’s not powered by a sudden desire to strip; the Australian has found a tank top that doesn’t smell like it hasn’t been washed in a week, so she’s taking full advantage of that. But suddenly the majority of the blonde’s torso is on display, and God damn does the woman have a lot of scars from a life running away from zombies. On her arms, mostly, but some have been scratched into her sides and on her back. (The brunette can see one go under her bra.) They even go over some of Elyza’s tattoos (Alicia hadn’t really focused on them before, when Elyza was in the lake, but she’s got a plethora of different, intricate designs), and Alicia finds they add to her image of being a zombie slayer.

She’s impressed.

Shit, she really didn’t mean to check her friend out just then.

She turns her head away – but not before Elyza catches her. Elyza’s subtle cough brings her attention back to the other girl, and her embarrassment multiples when the blonde arches an eyebrow and looks down at the blue plaid shirt in her hand before directing her amused gaze back to her eyes. At least, this time, Elyza _is_ now fully clothed, wearing a grey cotton tank top with a deer skull on it.

Alicia wears her deep scowl like armour, and stomps past the Australian into the dressing rooms, resolutely ignoring the cackling from behind her. She nearly has a coughing attack when she wrenches back the dressing room’s curtain, but she dashes back to let the cloud of dust escape and holds her breath. She goes in when it’s safe, and spends the next few minutes beating any remaining dust off the clothes she’s selected as her cheeks eventually cool down.

She hears Elyza occupy the dressing room next to her, and shakes her head before continuing to dress. She’s very happy to leave her old clothes behind – they’re stained by too many days of sweating and being attacked by reanimated corpses, of course she wants to dump them in a corner and forget they existed. So what if they’ve still got dust clinging to them? It’s better than nothing.

The Australian is already waiting for her when she emerges, twirling her handgun until she spots the brunette. Alicia knows Elyza’s watching her (she can feel her eyes as her gaze travels) but she concentrates on facing the other girl with a straight face and not remind them both of the embarrassment she’s inflicted upon herself.

Thank God that Elyza decides to spare her for now; there’s just an amused glint in her eyes, but no words about it. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” She joins Elyza’s side as they stroll out of the store, and nods when the blonde informs her they’re lower on water than expected. Given their sporadic coughing fits they’ve been subjected to, they’ll need more than anticipated.

But they stop right outside the entrance. There’s a walker, not too far away.

Elyza’s eyebrows furrow together, pulled closer to the sunglasses returned to the blonde’s face. The brunette knows what the other girl’s thinking; it’s weird for a walker to be wandering on its own. But it’s the only one they can see, and the only one they can hear.

It was a woman, before she got turned – a small adult, still fairly lithe despite its general zombified disposition. It’s wearing a grey suit, with half of its jacket torn off, and it’s missing its right hand. The blood has long since stopped dripping; the wrecked mass of flesh at the end of its wrist is dried and crusted. The zombie appears to be dragging its left leg along like it’s broken, or dislocated. The rest of its clothes are bloodied and torn, and only one shoe has survived. On its face, the bright crimson lipstick has mixed with the dark red blood smeared all over its chin and cheeks and matted brunette hair.

Alicia doesn’t pity what has come before, but what the person could have been right now, if she hadn’t been turned into _this_.

“Huh. She reminds me of a bogan I used to know,” the Aussie shrugs, and Alicia has _no fucking clue_ what that means, so Elyza brushes it off. “I’ll let you take this one. Wanna try out that knife throwing skill of yours?”

Alicia takes another look at the walker in front of them, the unease sloshing in her stomach. It’s closer now, quicker than the Californian expected, so she has to make a decision in the next few seconds. She has to admit, she kind of _does_ want to show off. But she also doesn’t want to mess this up.

In front of them, the walker stumbles forward, the guttural groan pushed out of its mouth, diseased. A bit of blood spills from its lips, as a loose tooth gets caught up in the freefall, and the walker’s groan becomes a horrific gurgle.

“I can always shoot her if you miss. But you were good, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Elyza reassures her.

The brunette squares her shoulder and moves into position, bringing her knife up high. At once, she’s focused, fixated on the feeling of the knife in her hand and the power that’s come. “I can do it,” she responds, and lets her knife fly loose.

She can hear the knife as it flies through the air, the soft swooping sound as it rotates and rotates – but the sound is replaced by a sickening squelch as the blade embeds itself in the zombie’s head. It’s an accurate, clean throw, and the zombie’s gurgling turns into a shriek as it goes down, crashing down onto the gravel. The gurgle dies in its exposed throat, and it lays there, finally, truly dead.

It doesn’t move again. Alicia breathes out a sigh of relief. For her first throw at a zombie, it definitely was a success.

“Ace!” Elyza grins, and holds up her right hand for Alicia to high five. After their little celebration, she steps forward to inspect the zombie.

The Sun beats down on the corpse, and Alicia is still squinting, but at least her cheeks aren’t only pushed up because of how bright it is. She’s pretty proud of that kill, actually.

(Alicia doesn’t pity what has come before, but what the woman could have been right now, if she hadn’t been turned into _that_.)

The Californian follows, and yanks the knife out as soon as she gets to the walker. The sound it makes is enough to make her feel nauseous, but she pushes it down. The knife emerges, and the slick silver of the metal blade has been doused in the sticky red blood of the zombie. Swallowing, Alicia wipes the brains and blood onto the walker’s grey suit, and stands up again.

Elyza is grinning at her again, and the smile breaks free on her face.

Maybe, they’re not that bad a team. Maybe she’s even glad this weird Aussie swaggered into her life.

Maybe.

(Definitely.)

Then Elyza exhales in astonishment, and the Californian gets really confused. That is, until the blonde speaks.

“A _liquor_ store. Fuck yes!”

“What?” Alicia looks behind her, and spots the offending building. Amazingly, it doesn’t seem to be affected by any apocalyptic looting. She turns back to Elyza and crosses her arms. “No. You said water. We’re not getting any other drinks.”

“Oh, we totally _are_ ,” Elyza’s immediate response is, the grin still dancing on her lips. (Alicia reminds herself to not look at them.) “Mate, we are _absolutely_ going there. Drinking’s so much more fun when you’re with someone. Come _on_.”

Unexpectedly, the Australian’s by her side in a second, grabbing her arm and dragging to the store before she can plant her feet on the ground determinedly in protest.

The liquor store is just as dusty and unused as the clothes outlet, and – despite their original assumption – a little more trashed, too. At least half of the bottles are gone or broken on the floor, and a window’s been smashed; apart from that, the rest of the place looks somewhat intact, so Elyza seems to be satisfied. (Alicia rolls her eyes at the other girl’s enthusiasm. It’s _just_ alcohol.)

“You’ve drunk before, haven’t you? Been to a rage? Partied until you passed out?” Elyza asks, eyes scanning the labels as she goes through the shelves.

The brunette’s arms are already crossed, so she rolls her eyes again. “ _Yes_ , of course. I did have a social life, too.”

“I mean, your Berkeley aspirations would say otherwise.”

“Shut up, ‘Lyza.”

The shortening of Elyza’s name makes the Australian pause, just for a second. It’s barely noticeable, but it makes Alicia smirk in victory as Elyza regains herself and continues her search.

“You love it really,” Elyza responds, flashing a grin at her.

Alicia huffs a sigh in response.

Elyza ignores most of the vodka – “That shit’s like kerosene; I’m not having that!” – and walks over to the rum, talking quietly to herself as she does so. By the time she’s selected three bottles, Alicia’s pretty sure she’s cracked three jokes to herself. She’s going off the amount of laughter the blonde emits; it’s usually a pretty good indication.

Rum’s never been to Alicia’s taste, but she doesn’t want to wait like a petulant mother watching over a child, so she wanders around herself. She’s not _big_ on drinking, but she’ll drink a few things, so she selects the fanciest-looking wine bottle she sees. She tells herself she’ll be _careful_ tonight. She’ll be classy. She’ll be refined. Her mom would be proud.

Sort of.

So if she grabs a six pack of beer, it’s only because she’s closer to the beer than Elyza is. Never mind her own willing participation. It’s Elyza’s fault. It’s all Elyza.

She keeps telling herself that on the way back home. She keeps telling herself that until she opens one of the cans in the truck, sipping on the liquid as a way to occupy herself while her exhaustion from her earlier episode rears its head.

“You’re really chucking that down,” Elyza chuckles, tilting her head to look at Alicia. “You’re gonna need that water we got earlier.”

Alicia shrugs, recalling rest of the excursion to Edna. No gas refuels, but plenty of water, and more dry food. “Maybe. I don’t want to drink too much tonight.”

The other girl tuts. “’Licia, I don’t think we gave ourselves that choice.”

Alicia’s laugh is small – soft – as she looks down at the backpack in her lap, stuffed with the bottles and cans they’d taken. “You’re probably right.”

They’re back at the ranch house by about lunch; they snack on some of the food recently swiped, and settle into a quiet routine. Elyza pores over the map, committing every town and every route to memory, while Alicia loses herself in a book from the bookshelf. Most of the books are old, usually from the 50s and 60s, or literary classics. Some of them, stacked neatly at the very end of the bottom bookshelf, are more modern. They’re younger, less mature. Alicia realises they were the property of the daughters who lived here, and selects a book from there.

Just a typical romantic YA book, but it’s nice to get lost in it. She reads quickly, and laps up every word she can. It’s not gripping, but not banal, and the hours pass easily as they settle down.

When the brunette finishes the second book of the day, it’s around 8 o’clock. Elyza has dozed off on the sofa, mouth agape and hair ruffled from her weird sleeping position. It’s so… weirdly peaceful. Alicia hasn’t seen the Australian this relaxed before – not the sort of relaxed that Elyza projects when she’s cracking jokes and eating tinned beans by the firelight, but the sort of relaxed where the woman shows no inhibitions. Every part of her looks _soft_.

And here she goes, with the not-so-straight thoughts.

Sighing, Alicia gets up from the chair and walks over to Elyza, gently shaking her awake. Her mind flits back to the last time they were in this position, but she grits her teeth and shoves it firmly out of her mind; that’s over with now. This is today.

Elyza emits a sleepy little groan and twists her head to the side before she opens her eyes. It takes a few seconds for her to recognise who’s standing over her – but as soon as she does, her mouth snaps shut and she smiles at the brunette.

(God, it’s so _soft_.)

“Why’d you wake me?” the blonde wonders, her voice all kinds of sleepy and all kinds of raspy. She adjusts herself, sitting up and leaning against the arm of the sofa, and stretches. “I was having a great time. Everyone around me was high from these weird nuts we’d found in the forest.”

Alicia chuckles at that. (It falters slightly as that weird ‘familiar unfamiliarity’ feeling slams into her all of a sudden, but she overcomes that.) “I’m hungry. Have you got anything planned?”

Elyza’s eyes wander to the pile of alcohol they’ve made. “Apart from drinking? Nope. I could rustle something up, though.”

And maybe their first mistake is opening the two other cans of beer – or, as Elyza likes to call them, “tinnies” – with their meal. Maybe their next mistake is not having enough of a meal to even _call_ it a proper meal, and not having enough to soak up some of the alcohol they keep drinking.

But as the drink lets some of Alicia’s inhibitions fade away, she finds she doesn’t really care about making mistakes.

The Australian says they’re only trying to get it drunk so they don’t have to leave it here tomorrow; no point wasting what they’ve acquired. But then Elyza also tells the story like it was a struggle to even get inside the liquor store, despite Alicia being there with her, so sober Alicia would have dismissed that as a lame excuse.

Alicia’s not sober, though. Rum doesn’t taste as bad when you’ve already had two cans of beer and a bit of wine.

(“Fuck you and your fanciness,” Elyza says as she points a middle finger at the wine bottle in Alicia’s hand, before gulping down some of the rum in her cup. The brunette laughs, knowing full well that Elyza’s going to be asking for the wine after her rum’s gone.)

She should probably slow down – no, they _both_ should probably slow down – but the Aussie _was_ correct in saying that drinking is more fun when it’s with someone else, and Elyza seems to be funnier, somehow, when she’s drunk. Her funny side seems to go into overdrive; everything she says is meant to crack Alicia up in some way – and everything else coming out of the blonde’s mouth is her laughing. Or snorting. Or giggling.

Elyza gets giggly when she’s drunk. It’s cute.

By the time the Sun sets – usually an indication of them needing to go to bed – they’re both drunk. Wholly, unreservedly drunk. And the Californian doesn’t deny it – she never has – but this time, she knows, is different. There’s no music blaring through speakers turned up to their loudest setting; there are no stumbling friends or creepy boys or dresses that aren’t quite long enough. This time, it’s her, the Australian, a ranch house that’s starting to become a comfort to her, and the words that are passing between the two of them. This time, her honest side can come out.

(She’s glad she decided to pass on her usual drunk antics; her tendency to throw caution to the wind and dance until she collapses probably isn’t suitable tonight.)

“No, Elyza, hear – hear me out,” she grins. Her words are slurring, she knows, but she doesn’t care. “This is real shit, I’m honest. I think – I think we must have met in a past. Past life. Or something. _Noo_ , don’t laugh, I’m being _serious!_ ”

Elyza is giggling, hand covering her mouth and her nose. She slapped it on there a few minutes ago as a way to stop herself from laughing; it hasn’t done its job. “’Licia, are you _hearing_ yourself?”

The brunette has decided she likes the way Elyza’s Australian accent sounds when the Aussie’s drunk. Everything is really drawn out when she slurs.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve got two ears.”

“Har har,” the blonde grins. She shuffles on the sofa, her legs prodding Alicia’s side. “I mean, like – you think that’s real? That’s fucking funny, mate. You musta spiked that wine, ‘cause that’s not – God, Triple B, you crack me up.”

“Shh. I’m being _serious_. Like, I swear I know you from before. I get this weird ass feeling sometimes that just – it’s really weird, makes me feel weird. I _think_ it’s connected to you, I think,” she tries to explain.

“You sure that’s not just you being wildly attracted to me?” the other girl teases, and she throws a wink at Alicia for good measure. Actually, coupled with how unruly the blonde looks with her messy drunk hair and the sloppy way she’s adjusted her tank top, it is kind of attractive.

Alicia doesn’t _dare_ to say that, though. She may be spilling random thoughts tonight, but she’s not confessing _that_.

The Californian scoffs, but it turns into a laugh. “I am… surprised you said that without slurring too much. And no, it’s not that, ‘Lyza.” she beams. “I’m being _serious_ , though.”

“Really? I di’n’t know. You’re gonna have to tell me again. I really think I’ll get it on the fourth time,” Elyza tries to deadpan. Her grin’s too wide, though.

“Sarcasm isn’t the outcome of an intelligent mind.” She frowns. “Is that how the saying goes?” It’s probably not. She might be confusing that with something else.

“I don’t care about any saying; sarcasm’s fucking great.” Elyza jostles in her seat again, turning to face Alicia fully. “Anyway! Continue your hypothe-hypothesis. It’s fucking stupid but fucking funny, so keep going.”

Alicia swallows and bobs her head. “You’re right, it’s _stupid_. They don’t exist. Past lives don’t – don’t exist. Or future lives. Or connected lives. Even _death_ doesn’t exist anymore, and it’s fucking stupid. But I just – I just _feel_ it sometimes, you know? I’m 70% sure we have a connection.”

Elyza snorts. “That was like a terrible pick-up line, Triple B,” she remarks, and Alicia laughs. The Aussie takes another swig of her rum and swallows roughly before commenting, “It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? I don’t believe in any of that soulmate shit, but that would be fun. It would make dating easier, for sure. No weird exes putting glitter in your mail after you break up.”

“Shit, did that happen to you?” Alicia’s eyes are wide with horror.

“Mum was as cross as a frog in a sock,” Elyza relays, her smirk sloppy and wide. “You shoulda seen her, ‘Licia. I got grounded for a week. Wasn’t even my fault!”

If Alicia’s honest with herself, it’s both a mistake and a blessing that they’ve got so drunk. Maybe it’s a mistake for them to start drinking without regularly having drinks of water to accompany the alcohol, and maybe it’s a mistake for them to carry on drinking until there’s not a single drop of alcohol left – but it’s not a mistake to her when she’s in the middle of it. It’s not a mistake to her when Elyza is doubled over with laughter, the sound high and pealing, and it’s not a mistake when she feels genuinely _elated_ for the first time in months.

She’s not sure when they finish the alcohol – she’s 60% sure that it’s probably in the early hours of the morning despite the fact that she can’t remember much of anything, right now – but the last thing that runs through her mind as she passes out is that she’s kind of glad for this mistake.

She’s gonna feel shitty in the morning, though. She’s totally serious about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badass zombie slayer? Pfft. Elyza's looking more and more like a dork with every chapter.  
> Spoiler: she's both.  
> As always, talk to me on my Tumblr about Lexark or Clexa or pretty much anything - my ask is always open c:


	7. hangover like a bullet to the head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They made a big mistake in drinking last night.  
> But - actually, Alicia's quite glad she's in a place she knows is safe when... weird things start to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Sober // Broods.

_Fuck._

That was a terrible mistake.

A stupid, stupid, _stupid_ mistake.

She still doesn’t know what time they finished drinking last night, and she still doesn’t know when she fell asleep – but the fact still stands that she did, they _both_ did, and now it’s got to be the early afternoon.

She knows this because they’ve already woken up a few times to unceremoniously hurl the contents of their stomach into the toilet basin, and it was light then. It’s still light now, but the Sun is a bit lower in the sky.

Yeah, definitely afternoon. As soon as she decides that, she shuts her eyes again because – God, the _light_. It fucking _hurts_.

She officially swears never to drink again.

(Had she not been in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, anyone around her would’ve scoffed and completely doubted that, because it’s what everyone says when struggling through a hangover. Everyone always goes back to drinking at the next party. But, considering the predicament they’re in, it carries more weight.)

This is probably the worst hangover she’s had to deal with; she’s had a few, and they were all terrible, but this is in its own league. If she wasn’t aiming to vomit already on her trips to the toilet, the motion itself would’ve been enough. Pair that with a blinding headache and a light-filled, open plan main room – and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

Last night was a massive mistake. She can’t even remember most of it.

She does remember some things. She remembers sitting with Elyza on the sofa (this really comfy sofa she’s now extremely thankful for), talking and drinking and giggling. She remembers how Elyza had a tendency to grab her plaid shirt and pull her in closer when the blonde laughed with her, and she remembers how Elyza laughed _a lot_. She remembers Elyza insulting the wine because it was too fancy for the blonde, and then proceeding to finish it off with her when they’d drunk everything else. She remembers some of the earlier conversations they’d had, and how Alicia had been _serious_ about everything despite the drunk smile plastered across her face.

She doesn’t remember much else, but she doesn’t need to. She guesses their conversations were silly, stupid, last night, and it won’t affect her either way. Her life isn’t going to be massively improved by the memories.

Her life _will_ be massively improved by water, though – so, fighting against the sluggish effect of her hangover, she steels herself to open her eyes and look for a water bottle.

That resolve crumbles when she opens her eyes again and the light hits her hangover like a bullet to the head. She groans – and fuck, why did she do that? That was loud – and burrows her head further into the sofa, severely regretting that decision.

It’s then that she realises exactly where she is. Or – how close Elyza is to her on the sofa.

They’re spooning. Tangled in each other’s legs and arms, Elyza’s blonde hair acting as a second, softer pillow for Alicia’s head. The Californian’s heart jumps into her throat and she hears it pounding wildly.

This was not meant to happen. This shouldn’t be happening. Christ.

The best course of action is to extract herself from this girl she’s known for only four days – so gently, silently, she grasps the blonde’s hands and puts them closer to the Aussie’s own body. Elyza doesn’t seem to have woken up, going by the soft puffs of air tickling the brunette’s neck, so her next plan is to untangle their legs. She does so – again, gently, silently – and winces every time Elyza turns her head.

There we go. Now she’s not awkwardly cuddling Annoying Gun Girl.

She has to open her eyes so she can direct herself to the other side of the sofa; the thought of that makes the bile rise in her throat again. She cracks them open marginally, squinting against the sunlight still pouring in, and ungracefully sits up – before flopping even more ungracefully to the other side. A small “oof” escapes her lips as she does so, but it clangs inside her head like bones knocking together.

Thankfully, the cushion on here is plump and offers to replace the comfort she lost when she extracted herself from her friend.

She’s not going to lie – Elyza was warm. And soft. And it was nice, sort of.

Just a bit of comfort she needs in her hangover state.

Whatever. She needs to sleep now. She tells herself that water can be fetched after she gets some more sleep, and sighs in contentment as she stretches and settles in her new position.

“Shut up, Plaid Girl.”

Alicia jolts in surprise. She swears the blonde was asleep. Her next thought after that is that Elyza’s words are deafening, too loud for her current state. God, they need to stop talking. They need to sleep these damn hangovers off.

“I wasn’t talking.”

“Don’t care,” is Elyza’s muffled reply. “Made sound. Hurts.”

The pout on the brunette’s face – it’s likely to be a permanent expression on her face now – deepens as the Australian’s words rattle about in her head. “Then why the hell are you still talking? And why am I ‘Plaid Girl’?”

“Because. We’re like superheroes. I’m BAMF, you’re Plaid Girl. Only alcohol can stop us. Now let me sleep.”

It’s quite hypocritical, for Elyza to complain about not being able to sleep when she’s perfectly happy to keep talking. But Alicia lets it drop; she doesn’t care anymore. She wants to sleep. She rolls her eyes, forgetting her eyes are already closed, and settles down again.

It’s a bit less comforting, her new position, but she’d rather respect the distance expected of them than deal with any awkward questions later. Social norms, and all that.

(It’s a lame excuse – that, she knows.)

After ten minutes of the only sound between the two girls being their deep breathing, Alicia concludes that sleep is harder to reach, now she is lacking her very own blonde-haired pillow. This sofa is comfy, sure (she’s envious of the people who actually owned this sofa), but it feels too big, too spacious right now. Besides, the Sun isn’t quite as warm today as it was yesterday, so she’s feeling the effect of that, too.

And yes, she _is_ making up reasons to crawl back to Elyza. She’s a request away from actually going through with it.

Christ, she needs to sleep.

“’Licia.” For God’s sake. “ _Alicia_.”

“For someone who was bitching about me being too loud, you’re making a _hell_ of a lot of noise right now.”

“For someone who’s bitching about me bitching about you being too loud, you’re still really loud,” the Australian counters.

Elyza has lost her with that response. Alicia groans. This girl is impossible. “Then _what do you want?_ ”

“Come here and snuggle with me. You were comfy.”

Looks like she’s got her reason. She complies, eyes still very much closed. And it takes half a minute of shuffling and adjusting their positions, but soon they’re back to the original position they fell asleep in – Elyza the big spoon, Alicia the little one. It doesn’t really make sense, not when Elyza is actually the smaller of the two girls, but somehow it fits. They fit naturally.

The Californian elects to completely ignore that observation as sleep finally, finally pulls her down to the depths of delightful darkness.

Except she is not blanketed by darkness – but a story. A dream plays out in her mind, as familiar as a memory, but this is not a memory that Alicia Clark has ever had. She has not been to this place, this wild part of a forest with mammoth trees entwined with vines and with a carpet of cracked leaves littered at her feet. This place is ancient, breath taking with all the nature that bursts from every surface, and Alicia has never been here before.

But she – the narrator, the character – plays with a young teenage girl, a girl she knows is her age. This girl is already striking in her appearance, despite her youth; big brown, button eyes, a small flat nose, a strongly forming jawline, and frizzy, curly hair a dark brunette, a shade darker than her skin. Various linen layers encompass her body, as she crouches slightly in a fighting stance. The stick she grasps with deceivingly little hands is twirled with speed and expertise as she stares at the girl Alicia is meant to be, her teeth showing in a wide grin.

 _“Come on. Show me why you were chosen!”_ she goads, and Alicia feels the smile form on her own person’s face.

They duel – this girl has her own stick – and it’s clear from their careful attacks that they’ve long since trained for fights like this. They know each other well; this person can guess this girl’s moves as well as she can make her own, and this girl responds in exactly the same way. But the girl Alicia has inhabited is the better fighter. She is smoother, quicker, stronger – and before long, the stick is smacked out of the dark-skinned girl’s hands. The stick falls to the forest floor and thuds dully before it lands in a circle of delicate blue-purple flowers.

 _“You challenged me, Costia, so I delivered_ ,” Alicia hears herself saying. Her voice is higher, younger.

Costia does not look annoyed by her defeat; her grin has not left that pretty face of hers at all. Excitement lines every part of her face, sparkles in her eyes, and Alicia – or the girl – thinks it looks quite beautiful on her.

Then the landscape changes; the welcoming greens and browns of the forest, and the vibrant yellows, reds and blue-purple tones of the flowers, melt and blur before her eyes settle a new image, a new place. Vibrant colours are replaced with darker hues – mahogany browns and wood illuminated by the dim light of the candles that fail to replace the light of the Sun. The ground beneath her is stone, and all surfaces are man-made, overly elaborate. Every object in this room speaks of a homage to the nature outside, but Alicia knows the world here brings a severity known only by humanity.

It is a harsher world for her person.

The armour is tailored to her size, but she is young – she is growing every day, and her body is more muscle than bone. It is too small, to the point of chafing. She marches to a bedroom – the girl’s bedroom, Alicia corrects herself – and it chafes at the joints. Her boots are much the same, and her person is tired from a long day of war planning and administration. Everything about her – even her heart, God forbid – aches with exhaustion and worry and dread, but she must not show this. She must not show this.

She has no choice; as soon as she enters her bedroom, the guards closing the door behind her, she knows something is _very_ , very wrong. The air is too still. The out-of-body feeling of horror that appears in her nightmares rises up, clouding the edges of her periphery, and Alicia is frightened for her person, frightened of what is to come. She can only watch as the girl, frowning, spots the hessian bag thrown onto the furs on her bed. She can only watch as the girl lithely reaches to hold the bag, watch as her hands come away stained with blood.

It is when the girl rips off the bag to find a bloodied, dark-skinned head – frizzy hair and wide button eyes intact – that Alicia’s eyes fly open, a gasp of terror rattling through her lungs. Her breathing is shallow, and it takes her a second before she realises who she is, where she is, and why the sunlight is that painful.

Elyza murmurs in her sleep, and her thumb strokes Alicia’s bicep. It’s almost as if the blonde knows Alicia is upset – but she can’t, of course. The Aussie is asleep. She won’t even know she’s doing it. But it’s enough to put her at ease; her breathing becomes deeper again, more relaxed, and after a few minutes, the images of Costia’s severed head are not the first thing she sees when she closes her eyes.

(Poor, poor Costia.)

It takes another half hour, but this time, her sleep is not punctuated with horrific dreams her mind wants to show her. (Her subconscious can be an asshole sometimes.) Instead, it is peaceful. Instead, it is blank. No dreams permeate the brunette’s sleep, and no terror permeates her mood.

They are safe. As safe as safe gets in this place, anyway.

By the time both have recovered from their hangovers enough to stomach being awake and alert, the afternoon is drawing to a close. The Sun is low in the sky, and the house is illuminated by a feather-light orange glow. The safe feeling that Alicia has started to associate with this house has not faded away, and when she sits up, it’s with the smallest of smiles on her face. (She’s celebrating the fact that it’s not a frown, despite her hangover still gently knocking on the insides of her head.)

The Californian wakes before the other girl. Elyza is still asleep, though coming back to the world, and her muttering isn’t making much sense. Untangling herself from the blonde and sitting up where she is, Alicia listens to the words tumbling from Elyza’s mouth, for want of something else to do.

“Klark kom… I’m the…”

Alicia has no idea what she’s talking about. Maybe it’s another dream. But they can’t really stay asleep for much longer; they’ll be awake all night otherwise.

“Elyza,” she murmurs, tapping the blonde’s shoulder.

It’s enough to bring Elyza back to the land of the living (and the walking dead). Elyza groans and twists in her place before her eyes are forced open. Her hair is even messier than before, and her limbs are heavy, but her bleary eyes are alert enough for her to be aware of her surroundings. “What?”

“You were talking in your sleep,” Alicia informs her. “Clark. My last name. How d’you know that?”

Elyza considers her words for a moment, sitting up and giving Alicia a tiny nod in acknowledgement of the brunette accommodating for the movement. “No, it was this… this girl’s first name. Had an _e_ on the end of it. Clarke. Is that how you spell your name?”

The Californian shakes her head. “That’s an unusual first name.” (Nice, though. Punchy, powerful. She plays with it in her head. _Clarke_. _Clarke._ She likes the way the _r_ would roll off her tongue if she said it out loud – not that she has any reason to, after all.)

“Unusual names seem to be my speciality,” the Aussie comments. At Alicia’s confused look, Elyza continues, “Who do you know that has a weird name like Elyza Lex?” The pause Alicia gives is the answer Elyza needs – “Exactly.”

Fine. She doesn’t really care that much. Alicia stands up, stretches, and stumbles a bit. She’s been asleep for a long while.

It’s then that she spots a small object still in her hair out of the corner of her eye; she grabs it and claws it out of her locks before examining it. It’s a colourless, flimsy piece of food she hurled out of her body when she was vomiting earlier. Actually, it looks like a piece of sweet corn.

Alicia whines and flings it away from her. That was gross. “God, I need a wash.” She doesn’t even want to know what else is in her hair. From the looks of it, though, her new clothes have somehow been spared.

“You and me both, Triple B,” Elyza rasps as she, too, rises from the sofa. “I’ll get on that.”

“But the showers don’t work.”

The look the blonde gives her is, at best, pitying. “A bath, ‘Licia. We can have a bath. We have water, fire, and a bathtub. We can survive,” she explains, and Alicia’s cheeks go red. As Elyza moves off, she chuckles, “You can send a girl to Berkeley, but you can’t teach her common sense.”

Affronted, Alicia makes a point of purposefully ignoring Elyza during her trips to and from the water pump and the campfire, where the Australian monitors the buckets over the flickering flames. (The brunette wants to help; she’s staying in this house too.) She knows even without looking that Elyza is watching her, her signature amused smirk etched onto her face like a tattoo – and Alicia wonders how they got to this stage, where what Alicia would have previously smarted at a few days ago is somehow no longer a point of contention for them.

The spooning. That probably did it.

Still – she does find the blonde aggravating sometimes. Especially when Alicia’s hand slips under the bucket once and Annoying Gun Girl can’t stop herself from informing the Californian on the benefits of strong arms that can cope with sustained use. “Impresses the ladies, see.”

“Were your partners impressed by your inability to _shut up?_ ” Alicia retorts at one point.

“Oh, of course; they loved every part of me,” Elyza purrs. “They sure as hell showed me that.”

Alicia snorts and rolls her eyes, because – _please._

Their goal is to fill the bathtub with enough boiling water for them both to have a bath, and it’s achieved in less time than expected. It’s not wise to waste water, they know, so any squeamishness about sharing bath water is pushed aside. It’ll have to do. It’ll have to do.

Though Alicia can’t help but be relieved when the Aussie insists the brunette washes first. Elyza cites Alicia’s situation as urgent (she points to the other girl’s hair for extra effect), and Alicia takes it. If it means she can be clean, she’ll take it.

It takes ten minutes for the bath to cool down to a temperature that _won’t_ scald her skin, and finally she can strip and submerge herself in blissful, blissful, water. (She’s very glad Elyza is out of earshot when she gets in, because she’s absolutely certain Annoying Gun Girl would make a lewd comment about the moan she emits when she settles into the barely boiling waves.) She’s not had a bath in _years_ – showers were always far quicker, and less hassle too – so this feels like a little piece of heaven on this hell on Earth.

Plus, the feeling’s doing _wonders_ for her fading hangover right now.

She’s aware that the water will soon be too cold for Elyza to enjoy it, so she tries to be speedy. Her moment of paradise is short, as she almost immediately lathers her hair with the bathroom’s surprisingly excellent shampoo, running her fingers through her tresses and revelling in the feeling it brings. After that, she gets to work on coating her body with soap suds, using the lone soap on the side of the bath (she’s used to better, but it’ll do). She is relentless, but careful, in her scrubbing – and by the time she has finished, she almost feels as if she were a snake that has just shed its skin. The water is now a murky mixture of shampoo, soap, a few traces of vomit she washed off, and the dust, sweat and grime she accumulated since her quick wash in the creek.

It all does her good. She’s content.

Yet content does not mean quiet; she doesn’t speak while she washes and rinses her hair, washes and rinses her body, but her mind has been set loose with different thoughts, different emotions, the words in her brain constantly knocking about now her hangover isn’t muffling everything she thinks.

Amongst other things, the regret that initially slammed into her when she woke up has crept to the forefront of her mind, and it leaves a bitter taste on her tongue as the ripples spread out from where her legs dip into the water.

They should have gone to Port Hueneme today. They should have been responsible and gone to Port Hueneme, instead of drinking so much that they passed out. They should have remembered why they were there, together, in that house, instead of weakly attempting to live a little in a world that doesn’t want them to survive.

They got the balance wrong. They got it all wrong, and Alicia may have missed her chance because of it.

She can’t deny that it was fun. No – it was a great night. Hangover and vomiting aside, she’s not had that much fun since before the apocalypse. (Even ruining the rich family’s house with Chris wasn’t as fun as last night.) She keeps remembering some more things, slowly, slowly, and every new word she recollects only serves to cement that feeling. It was _fun_. They were allowed to live a little, just for one night, where they could be seniors on the cusp of something new, teenagers on the edge of the world – drinking, laughing, and being young. Being brilliantly, brilliantly alive.

She’s been starved of that, denied it, for too long. They both have. So, despite the regret, despite the panic that is setting in again about not seeing her family, she feels a little bit of pride. They beat the system, for a night. They lived.

_We could be heroes, just for one day._

The lyric rushes back to her again, all of a sudden, and she remembers when she last thought of that – at the superstore, where the Aussie saved her from that walker. That Bowie song; she thinks it’s apt. A forever has to fit in a day, in this world, and every day stretches into a forever full of fear and worry and death. This new world, a horrifying, monstrous world, means time has very little meaning until your time is out.

She’s glad they got that little bit of forever yesterday. She’s glad they could let go. But they’ve had their fun now. Now they need to leave this place, and Alicia needs to go back to her family.

She heaves a quiet sigh as she cups water in her hand and pours it down her soapy shoulder. She looks around the bathroom – it’s got the same colour scheme as the rest of the house, all beige and brown and wooden. But this place, it’s brought some peace to her, some fun, and she knows a piece of her will be sad to leave it. It’s stupid; she’s getting attached to locations again, and that’s just stupid in the zombie apocalypse – but her experiences in this place are mostly good, and that’s enough for her to feel _something_ , even if she could never call this place home.

(They have no home anymore.)

She wonders how Elyza found this house, what state she was in. Alone, alone, driving for the hell of it, a gun permanently in her reach. What had she expected? What had she wanted? Was she okay?

(Elyza couldn’t be. No one’s okay anymore. It’s the fucking zombie apocalypse.

They felt okay last night though.)

It must have been a blessing, to find a house in the middle of nowhere but close to supplies. It must have been a blessing, to find a house as nice as this one, abandoned and equipped for a life of survival. Elyza must have thanked whatever was out there that this was real, because things like that didn’t happen to her; good things don’t happen like that during the end of the world. Alicia would have been the same.

And Alicia wonders how the blonde felt when she saw the Californian struggling to get the zombie off her. She wonders how Elyza felt when she saw another person – a girl like her – who was willing to listen, willing to stay (eventually). She wonders if the idea made her happy, or if it just complicated things. Because things sure are complicated now; Elyza’s about to embark on a road trip she never really planned for, and she somehow befriended Alicia along the way. Like a prolonged version of hitchhiking, with the added fear of being digested by the undead.

What a weird, fucked up situation. How did it happen to them?

It could be worse, though. Much worse.

She realises with a jolt that her thoughts have – once again – returned to her Australian friend. That’s no longer a novel occurrence, but it _is_ a liability. She thinks too much, she overthinks. And she’s thinking too much about Elyza, who probably doesn’t even care that much about her.

(She refutes that immediately. The blonde was extremely friendly last night, albeit extremely drunk.)

It’s a liability, still, because she knows that what she’s been thinking about definitely does not make her the poster girl for heterosexuality. Her little staring episode with Elyza yesterday is old news, she knows, despite it being embarrassing nonetheless. In fact, she already knows a lot of things about this particular situation, but she’s never been in the position to willingly voice this knowledge.

So. She gets to work on cleaning her legs and feet, rubbing her toes and between them determinedly, and frowns as she concentrates. She knows this.

One – she is not straight. She cannot, under any circumstances, be straight anymore. She’s not gay – what she had with Matt was very real, even if it wasn’t quite as intense as it could have been – but she’s not straight in any way.

Two – she’s probably bisexual. She’s clever, and conscientious; she’s done her research. She knows about sexual identity and gender identity, and so on – so, she knows, she’s most likely bisexual.  The female thing she’s certain about – the bisexual thing may need a bit of clarification.

Three – she definitely has a thing for blonde girls. She’s found out that much. Or just, girls. She has a type, she thinks, but she’s always been pretty lax about that whole thing. The other person needs to have more than two brain cells, though. And preferably they won’t act like a dick, either.

And four – she definitely might have a thing for Elyza. She’s attracted to the Australian, at least.

Which is fantastic, actually. Not awkward _at all._

She notes with a little smirk that she’s really changed since the start of the end of the world. _That_ Alicia wouldn’t recognise herself at all. _That_ Alicia was a straight-laced, straight A student, and generally _straight_ – now none of those things apply to her.

 _This_ Alicia accidentally stares at her companion while she’s switching between tank tops – and oh, God, she really wishes she hadn’t been caught.

It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. Elyza will probably be celebrating when she finds out. She’s the gayest person Alicia’s ever kno—

Her train of thought is interrupted quite suddenly by a violent pain that strikes her leg, the pain starting from midway down her thigh in long, serrated slashes that spreads outwards, multiplying. Alicia yelps in shock and brings her leg closer to her body out of instinct; she’s half expecting to see beads of red mix with the soapy water – but there’s nothing.

There’s nothing but her skin, pink skin flushed with the heat, hairs flattened down by the water now standing on edge in her fear.

And, really, what the _fuck_ is going on?

The pain hasn’t subsided; it’s still incredibly intense. It stings like hell and the brunette rubs at her leg, whimpering at the pain. She has no idea how this happened, but her nerve endings in her leg feel like they’re on fire even though _there’s nothing there_.

She has _no idea_ what’s going on.

“Alicia?” comes Elyza’s worried voice, closer than she expected.

Alicia blushes – this is so not what she needs right now – and tries to tell the blonde that she’s okay, but she moves her leg when she opens her mouth, and the movement hurts so much that the only sound she emits is a whine of pain.

It’s the last thing she wanted to happen, because Elyza comes storming in not a second later, jaw set in a hard line while her eyes are soft. Her leather jacket is still off, but she’s picked up a tattered red sweater from somewhere, and her greasy blonde hair has been put up in a bun. If Alicia wasn’t currently cursing everything under the Sun in her pain, she’d notice how nice a look it is on the Australian.

As it happens, she groans in pain as she moves to hide the rest of her body from her friend.

“’Lyza, I’m _naked_ ,” she hisses, cheeks just as hot as the water she’s bathing in. “Go away!”

The softness is replaced by determination; it drips down Elyza’s eyes as she furrows her brow at the way the brunette is cradling her leg. “I don’t care, you sound hurt. What happened? Are you okay?”

Alicia grits her teeth. “I don’t _know_ ,” she responds tautly. Her next response is a jumble of words, forced out of her at lightning speed in an effort to speak before she’s unable to. “I just – it hurts. My leg. But I can’t do anything about it until I get out, and I’m _naked_ right now, so you need to go before I do that.”

Elyza seems to be completely unfazed by Alicia’s significant lack of clothes. Impressive, really. “Are you sure? You’ll be able to stand up, won’t you?”

Alicia swallows. She doesn’t actually know. (She hates not knowing.) “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just – please, Elyza.”

Finally – thank _God_ – the blonde nods and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door carefully behind her. The Californian's pretty sure Elyza is standing outside the bathroom door, waiting to be called in so she can inspect the leg, or something – but she doesn’t do anything about it. It’s nice to know she cares, after all.

It takes a determined effort, and barely suppressed moans, but she manages to hoist herself out of the bath and grab a towel to dry herself off with. She limps around the room as she dries herself, picking up her clothes to wear again. She doesn’t even care that they stink of drink anymore – she just wants to look decent. She wants to look normal, because what’s happening with her leg sure as hell isn’t normal right now.

Only when she’s fully dressed and putting her hair into her towel does she realise that the pain is lessening. Not much – in fact, it’s a barely noticeable decrease. But it’s enough for Alicia’s heart to soar, because being in pain like this is really tiring, and she’s eager for things to return to the level of stability she’s used to.

The only good thing that’s come out of this, she supposes, is that it’s a sharp reminder of the world she’s living in. No stability. No real peace, even if this has only been some sort of a phantom pain.

“Alicia,” is the first word out of Elyza’s mouth when she opens the bathroom door – but that’s all she gets to.

The brunette puts her hand up to quieten the other girl. “I'm fine, Elyza, I swear. I’ll be okay.” She pauses. “You should have a wash; you still smell of vomit.”

Elyza pouts. “I'm pretty sure any chunder I've got on me is from you, ‘Licia. I wiped after I chucked.”

The Californian gives her an eye roll and a terse, “Just get in the bath,” before limping over to the bookcase.

Her hand traces the spines as she waits for Elyza; her throat bobs as she swallows, steeling herself against the pain that still permeates her being. (It’s becoming something of an instinctual coping mechanism for her, though she’s not quite sure how it developed, or why. Usually she'd just clench her jaw and argue, or something.) Her leg protests as she stands up, having selected a classic book – Pride and Prejudice, one of her all-time favourites – and she has to grip the bookcase tight before she collapses on it. Her hand darts out involuntarily, and in doing so she knocks off a little porcelain sculpture, a delicate white bird about to take flight. She can’t save it – it smashes on the floor, and Alicia cringes.

Elyza’s voice cuts off mid-way through a lyric. “Alicia? You alright?” the blonde asks, concerned.

Of course. Damn the Australian and her genuine worry for the brunette. “I'm fine,” Alicia reassures her immediately. “Just knocked something off the bookcase.”

“As long as it wasn’t an urn with a dead grandma in it or something, I'm not too bothered,” comes the reply, accompanied by the soft sound of water being displaced. “I’m not a fan of waking the dead.”

Alicia smiles at the comment – because she’s not a fan of any reanimated dead people, either – she but doesn’t reply; she moves further into the main room and manages to walk unaided before falling onto the sofa. Elyza is clearly unperturbed by the lack of response, because the singing has already resumed.

It’s not quite Clair de Lune, but it will do.

She chose Pride and Prejudice so she could concentrate on the difficult language. She's had the help of more modern translations for this novel before, but it’s more of a challenge to read the novel as it is, and it’s the perfect excuse she can use to distract herself from the pain in her leg. Gladly, she is transported to 19th century England; she pores over every word, every subtlety and every misconception in the story, and time soon falls away completely. She doesn’t pay attention to the Aussie’s singing in the bathroom, and she doesn’t even notice when Elyza walks into the main room and settles down on one of the chairs. She doesn’t notice when the blonde moves off to rummage around the garage, and returns with an art pad and drawing pencils.

(The brunette doesn’t notice, either, that Elyza is drawing her. She doesn’t notice the other girl’s eyes flicking to her form every few seconds, carefully documenting every angle, every part of her. She doesn’t notice, because she is wholly absorbed in this book; she doesn’t know there are two stories being replayed in this moment. But she feels it – that ‘unfamiliar familiarity' feeling she’s almost used to by now. Its presence arrived again with the phantom pain in her leg, but in this moment, there is a new dimension added to it entirely.

She doesn’t notice, but she feels it.)

She cannot escape reality for long; by the time the Sun is dipping below the horizon, Alicia is brought back 200 or so years by Elyza’s regular mutterings of, “Shit.” It takes her a second for her to realise who said it – Elizabeth may be a strong-willed character, but she certainly doesn’t swear – but as soon as she connects the voice to a name, her tenuous yet all-absorbing link to the past is severed. She blinks, and lifts her head.

“What?”

The blonde is startled by her question, but recovers. “Nothing, just made a mistake,” she explains, dropping the pad onto her lap and frowning down at it. “I haven’t drawn in a while; I’m out of practice.”

Alicia puts the book down on the coffee table; she hadn’t realised, but Elyza’s already lit the candles. (It makes her smile.) “You draw?”

“I used to,” Elyza shrugs, flipping through some of the pages in her art pad. The Australian’s bent forward in her chair, legs braced to keep the drawing pad in place; she’s bent forward enough that the brunette can see some of the drawings. Flowers, patterns, people, animals. They’re all very angular, almost mechanised – the furthest shapes from natural that Alicia could expect. Elyza’s drawing style, she thinks, is unexpectedly beautiful. “I was gonna be done with high school and then set up my own tattoo parlour. Good designs, good people, done at a cheaper price. The whole idea annoyed the fuck out of my mum, of course,” Elyza continues to explain, a small smile scrawled across her face.

“Why would it annoy your mom?” She can’t help but ask. She wants to know this girl in front of her, this girl who is still a mystery to her despite their closeness this morning.

(Since when did she _want_ to know about Annoying Gun Girl?)

The Aussie laughs, more of a scoff than a real laugh, and she shifts in her position on the chair. “Mum was this big hot-shot lawyer or whatever. Dealt with big companies. She used to do it out of a genuine interest for her job, but… somewhere along the way it became about the money. She didn’t care whether she was helping companies avoid tax or – helping them secure more land or more rights to something, whatever. She was good at what she did, but her morals weren’t good. That was when morals actually mattered, of course.”

Alicia winces. “Let me guess: you weren’t achieving what your mom wanted you to achieve.” It’s textbook parenting, that phrase. As soon as you dip below what’s expected of you, the fury of a thousand dragons suddenly rains down upon you. And it’s not like Alicia didn’t achieve – ask anyone in her school, she really _did_ – but her mom paid way more attention to what was going wrong in her school life than what was going right.

(She still doesn’t regret skipping the classes she didn’t care about. It wasn’t enough to get her suspended, obviously, but apparently it was enough to get grounded once or twice.)

“Too right! She was all, “Oh, you could be a brilliant lawyer, if you weren’t so interested in make-believe and drawing things like you’re a three year old.” Ugh,” Elyza complains, her mockery of her mother making Alicia laugh. “I didn’t care; I had a business plan. Set up two shops – one for the rich, one for anyone else. I’d get my mum’s friends to come to the more expensive one so I could fund my other one well, and put more time into it. I’d make the other tattoos cost less and make up for it with the revenue from the elitist pricks Mum loved so much.”

“So you’re basically an Australian Robin Hood,” the Californian smirks, and Elyza visibly brightens at that image.

“If your Robin Hood had illegal tattoos and was a girl, then, yeah,” the blonde grins. At Alicia’s expression – one of curiosity – she explains, “My mate Keeya. He taught me all I know about tattoos.”

Alicia’s thinking about how glad she is that the Aussie wasn’t one of those elitist rich kids, even if it does change her idea of the girl curled up on the chair – but that train of thought is interrupted by the change on Elyza’s face. Where she was grinning, now she is stoic. Grappling with emotions, grappling with loss. She watches with concern, and when Elyza looks up to meet her gaze, she knows her question has been silently asked.

“You know, I always thought the hardest bit of the end of the world was being in a country I didn’t really know enough. Or killing what used to be humans. But it’s not – it’s loss. It’s being hours away from your friends and your mum, and then being alone and without anyone, and knowing you’ve lost them all. What’s the worst is not being able to move on from that. Being stuck in the past.” The blonde slams her drawing pad shut. “I hate being stuck in the past – but here I am, telling you the story of how things were meant to be. I told you a future the past allowed, and I want to escape into that sometimes, but it won’t do shit. We’re still fighting for our lives, every day. We’re still just – surviving.

“Like – the whole Mount Weather thing. My dad’s neighbour, Mikel, told me about that. He’s – he was into the army, all that sort of military stuff, so he knew about that. He knew about the different places. That’s where he wanted to go. I can’t let go of that, even now. And it works for you – you’ve got family you can see. You’ve got family who you can see and who care about you and family you can reach, because they’re not _dead_.”

Elyza falls back in her chair, drying hair wild like a lion’s mane. She looks wild, cut up, and Alicia watches. It’s a demon she’s had to battle herself.

“I know I’m lucky,” she starts, and the blonde nods vigorously. “My family – we’re really dysfunctional. I’ve got a drug addict for a brother and a dead dad and I’ve gained a brother through my mom’s boyfriend, and we’re all cooped up on this guy’s yacht who we don’t even _trust_ but – I know, I’ve got someone. I’ve got people. That doesn’t mean we’re not affected. Chris wouldn’t let go of his mom’s body after Travis – her ex-husband, my mom’s boyfriend – shot her, and it hurt him. He was really angry, like, all the time.—“

“Even more than you are?” Elyza cuts in – and even though it’s at her expense, the brunette’s glad the other girl’s finding some humour.

“Har, har,” she deadpans. “ _Yes_ , even more than me. It nearly – it nearly destroyed him, and I hated that. That’s why I focus on the present. I don’t want to become like that.” She swallows. “We can grieve. Grieving’s good. But getting lost in it, in the past – it isn’t good.”

It’s just a precaution, she knows. Elyza’s struggle is not with grief, it’s with adjusting to a life without her past. Alicia can see it in the way she talked about her plans for the future, the future this world no longer allows; she can see it in the way she talked about Mikel and Mount Weather. She’s fine with grief – she knows she can grieve. It’s the moving on.

“I try,” Elyza responds, and her voice is lower, raspier. Alicia knows it comes from a more vulnerable place. “That’s why I talk all this shit about moving on. It doesn’t quite work.”

“Don’t try; do. It’s hard, but it works,” the Californian supplies her, and she lets the words hang in the air before she sits up, wincing minutely at the effect it has on her leg. “Okay, I’m done being a motivational speaker now. Please tell me you’re hungry.”

It’s the switch they need to flick – Elyza immediately jumps up and replies, “Oh, God, yes. What do you fancy tonight?”

“Anything but crackers,” is Alicia’s immediate and serious reply, and the other girl laughs. (She really is serious, though; if she sees another damn cracker she’ll throw it out of the window.)

“You rest your leg; I’ll get it sorted.”

They don’t talk about moving on, or the past, as they eat. Alicia tells her friend more about her family over their meal of cheese and broccoli soup, and about Strand and Daniel and Ofelia. Elyza seems to welcome the conversation, goading the brunette on. The Californian also talks about seeing her family again.

Their argument is about today’s missed chance, and it burns hot before cooling down immediately afterwards. Alicia can understand Elyza’s excitement about getting drunk and trying to live a little, and Elyza can understand Alicia’s need to get going. The Australian apologises, and the brunettes accepts – as long as they get to Port Hueneme tomorrow.

She needs to go tomorrow. Her family are what she knows.

It’s just a passing comment that gets her talking again, afterwards; Elyza muses about how they’ve changed as people. What would their family say? Alicia knows the spotlight’s on her, and she gathers up any strength she has left in this tired – but thankfully no longer painful – body of hers to speak: her family would see how safe she’s felt here. As safe as safe gets, anyway.

Also, they’d see that she’s not straight anymore. They’d see that she’s probably bi. So, that’s another thing.

She relays this to the blonde, and Elyza’s smirk is the widest it’s ever been. She’s delighted, obviously – and Alicia’s terrifying moment of panic is gone in a flash, though she doesn’t even know why she felt it in the first place. The Aussie tells her that they can be “queer buddies”, and it’s so unexpected that it makes her laugh.

That conversation makes her laugh, but the thought that she could see her family tomorrow is what keeps the smile on her face. It’s a possibility, a small possibility, but their lives now are built on what she thought was an impossibility – so she’ll hold onto it. Even if it doesn’t come true, she’ll take it.

They sleep, preparing for a long journey tomorrow. They’ve had plenty of sleep already, they know, but the phantom pain that Alicia felt has exhausted her, and Elyza wants to gather up as much energy as possible for the next day. There’s a chance they’ll have to fight, and she wants to be prepared.

Looking to the future, being prepared. It’s a step closer to the right mindset.

They’re getting there.

Right before sleep, Alicia’s smile drops as she remembers the nightmare she’d had earlier in the day – about Costia, poor, poor Costia – and that feeling of ‘unfamiliar familiarity’ pools in her stomach again. But she’s gone, overwhelmed by darkness, before she can dwell on it.

Naturally dried, frizzy and untamed like a warrior’s, her hair frames her face as she dreams, as she succumbs to what could have been, to what must have been. She dreams her hair is in braids, and her hair is as wild and ferocious as she is. She dreams her eyes are surrounded by black war paint, and tendrils drip down her face like tears – and she is every bit the commander others speak of her as. But no savagery shines in her eyes, only regret, barely noticeable, as she turns and walks away from the battlefield before her. She has betrayed the person she wishes to betray the least; the person she has unwillingly but surely been giving her heart to.

It is a cruel world, and hearts cannot rule over heads. Those words do not prevent the tears from stinging her eyes, the heaviness in her body multiplied by the sorrow of her bitter betrayal, and she knows she has hurt her, possibly beyond redemption.

If she could ever afford making an exception to doing her duty, she’d want it. For this moment.

When she wakes in the night, guilt spilling into her bones, into her heart, she stares at the wall in front of her – pitch black now the light has fully dissipated – and hopes, in her semi-awake state, that Elyza is having better dreams. That maybe Elyza is feeling a bit lighter inside, lighter than Alicia feels.

(She does not know it, but Elyza has been dreaming of similar things – of space and dropships and blood must not have blood, and how, somehow, things all fuck up when things start to feel right. Both awake, both wishing for the other to have better dreams than they are right now, and neither of them knowing, but both of them feeling.)

Yes, Alicia doesn’t want those sort of dreams for Elyza, because she feels all the pain the dreams brought her, even now. She feels like she’s taken on the weight of a thousand souls on her shoulders, just by painting her face with those blackened tears.

Though she knows, she knows instinctively, that she’d take them on. All those souls. She feels less like Alicia in this moment, and more like someone else – but whoever she is right now, in this transient state between dreams and reality, she’d take those burdens on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alicia, you were never straight in the first place.  
> And Elyza is me, if I ever got stuck in the zombie apocalypse. Doing what she can to move on, but invariably moving back to the past. It's a hard situation indeed.  
> Also, new characters mentioned oooh!!  
> Side note, I've never actually had a hangover before. God knows if I described having one well or not.


	8. accidental boss ass bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get very, very real for Alicia and Elyza. And very, very confusing. There are sides starting to come out that don’t make sense.  
> It’s all they can do to hold onto the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to Glory and Gore // Lorde.  
> This is a pretty long chapter (20+ A4 sides on Word, I think .o.) so enjoy!!

When she wakes, she knows who she is. What’s she lived, who she’s become, and who she must be. She knows she is Alicia, staying in a ranch house near Pismo, and that today is the day she will travel down to Port Hueneme, with her friend Elyza, to find her family again.

The thought makes her throat constrict with giddy excitement and apprehension.

Elyza, she’s discovered, is an early riser; it’s not unusual to hear the Australian’s feet thudding quietly on the wooden floors as Alicia wakes up. It’s light, still, almost rhythmic, but nothing is concealed in this house. Every sound is magnified, as if everything is intensified while she’s under this roof.

The brunette groans and turns over in her bed, not quite ready to extract herself from the cosiness of the duvet. She listens as the padding stops – one foot balancing in the air, maybe – before resuming. Great, now Elyza’s probably going to make sure she gets up.

She wants to think some more before she gets out of bed. She wants to mentally prepare herself.

Because, if all things go to plan, then she could possibly see her family again today. Besides Nick, that is. She’ll have to answer questions about his whereabouts – and the answer will be the same every time, she _doesn’t know_ – and she’ll be grabbed by her mom and hugged within an inch of her life. Travis may hug her too, and she doesn’t quite know what to feel about that. (She’s definitely not at a hugging stage with him yet.)

Strand will probably scold her for getting lost, and getting Nick lost. (They seem to share a weird bond that Alicia’s never asked about, but has certainly noted with curiosity and maybe a little bit of suspicion.) He’ll probably moan about having too many people on his boat, like he always does, and Alicia will roll her eyes and move away, because she won’t care enough to deal with that shit.

Ofelia will probably ask her about what she did when she was on the land – how she survived, if she met anyone. And the Californian will answer honestly, because she always does with Ofelia. Over these past few months on board, their friendship has only blossomed. It’s been nice, to befriend a female closer to her own age, and if she hadn’t had Elyza, she would have sorely missed that.

Elyza.

She’s going to miss Elyza; there’s no doubt about that. It’s only been four days, but the effect the blonde has had on her is hard to miss. For one, she’s better prepared for a life of surviving – thanks to Elyza’s admittedly impressive skills – and she knows what life is like without her family, how to depend on herself and someone else that isn’t her mom.

Actually, it’s pretty fun, despite the acute awareness of her separation from the people she loves most.

She’s going to miss Elyza, and all of the comfortable moments they’ve had together. She thinks she’s forever going to be wondering where the blonde is in the world; if she’s got to Mount Weather, if she’s still alive and kicking zombie ass or not. She’ll hope against hope that Elyza _will_ still be alive – and she’ll probably never know, because they’re going off in different directions. She’ll hope that Elyza is content and happy enough with the life she’s been given, and she’ll hope that Elyza has let go of her past as much as she can.

(She knows – it’s a bit hypocritical. To think of someone from her past when she’ll be in her present. But it won’t be their memories they’ve shared that she’ll muse about; it’ll be their current situations, their current points on the world map, that she’ll wonder about.

That’s not so hypocritical. No, it’s just _hope_.

And God, could they use a bit of hope in this life.)

Before she can wonder any more about her return, the Aussie yanks open her door and grabs the baseball bat from the side of Alicia’s bed, before stalking to the wall and knocking the bat against it. It’s a loud enough sound (a hollow sound, knocking against her eardrums) that the brunette groans again and shields herself with the duvet, determined to block the intrusion out.

“’Licia, come on, we’re going to Port Hueneme today!” Elyza yells. “You want to start early, right?”

Alicia’s hand darts out from the covers, and all fingers but her middle one curl into a fist.

The sight makes the blonde chuckle. “I thought you’d be more excited.”

“I _am_ ,” she complains, through the cotton. “I’m just tired. Leave me alone.”

She hears Elyza shuffle towards her, and the Californian’s body stiffens in response. “No can do, cupcake,” the Australian smiles, before ripping off the covers, revealing Alicia to be curled up in a ball on the bed.

“Dammit, Elyza, I was _comfortable_ ,” she complains, uncurling and rolling onto her back before propping herself up with her elbows. She’s covered by the sheet on top of her, but she’s not showing off much anyway. Either way, it still embarrasses her slightly. “Let me sleep.”

“We’ve gotta go, ‘Licia. Your family won’t wait for you to get your beauty sleep, will they?” Elyza urges. “And I promise not to feed you crackers today. I know you hate them.”

That’s a worthy proposition.

While Alicia has what she hopes is her last breakfast here, Elyza flits about, trying to find enough food and water for the trip. She packs in bulk; two cereal boxes find their way into the blonde’s designated food bag, along with five cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter. (Peanut butter’s gluten-free. Alicia’s satisfied with that.) The Australian is therefore like a whirlwind – her arms thrash out as she sweeps up various items, as she spins into another room. But then again, the brunette thinks, that’s the best way to describe her.

She flew into Alicia’s life and ever since, it’s been a mess of knives and zombies and emotions. Sometimes, they’ve been in the eye of the storm, and other times, they’ve been exposed to the winds of Elyza’s tumultuous character.

(What a whirlwind it’s been.)

Eventually, Elyza collapses into the dining chair opposite Alicia, unceremoniously dropping the three bags she’s taking onto the table too. One is for general stuff, the Californian knows – stuff like her map, her Glock, her sunglasses, and so on – while the other is for her remaining weapons. That’s a bigger bag, heavier, and she wonders how on earth the other girl is going to haul that around. The third and final bag is the food bag, packed to the brim with food and… not much else.

As soon as Alicia lifts her eyes to the blonde in her confusion, the other girl speaks. “We’re low on water. We’re gonna have to search around for some. But that’s fine, ‘cause we can get some gas while we’re at it.” A beat; “Ark’s almost out of fuel. She needs topping up.”

“How long will that take?” the brunette wonders, a sharper edge to her voice. This she _hadn’t_ expected.

“An hour, at the very most?” Elyza shrugs. “It won’t take long to get to Nipomo, only half an hour, but actually finding that stuff and not getting attacked by walkers – that’s less certain. It won’t be too long, though, I promise.”

It’s necessary. Unwelcome, maybe, but necessary. Alicia’s spoon clinks loudly as it falls against the side of the bowl. “Okay, fine,” she sighs. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

“Too right,” Elyza frowns, and Alicia knows the Aussie is lamenting the loss of her truck’s gasoline. The other girl perks up again when she comments, “And, hey! We can go to Nipomo and still be badass warriors slaying the zombies.”

It makes the Californian think back to her later dreams, her happier ones – when she was a warrior, with war paint around her eyes and a battle cry rising from her throat. There was something exhilarating in it, something profound. The residual elation still flows through her blood like it has always belonged there, and she smirks at the thought.

(The war paint – the tendrils snaking down her face – they still speak to her of all the blood spilled. But here, in this moment, she knows that whoever _really_ wore them, that character she inhabited last night, was proud, too. Proud of all the lives she’d saved, when wearing that war paint.)

“What’re you laughing about?” Elyza challenges lightly, a teasing eyebrow raised. A smile still dances across her face, bright as the Californian plains in the Sun.

Alicia purses her lips, shakes her head. “It just made me think of one of my dreams last night. That’s all.”

“ _Ooh_ , spill,” the blonde commands excitedly. Her hand taps impatiently on the wooden surface of the table. “You can always figure people out through their dreams.”

The Californian pauses, shrugs at the last comment, and explains, “We – the people I was with – had war paint on. We were warriors. I was young, but already… pretty good at combat. I think I cut down a few people.” The memory starts to escape her; she frowns. “I – the dream wasn’t very specific. I knew I was a leader of my people – a commander? Whatever – and we were meant to be fierce in this war against people like us. But they were harsher than we were, I think. They were dressed in arctic furs. Anyway, the war paint was the best part.”

Elyza’s eyes are wide – she’s almost trembling with excitement at this new idea she’s thought of. (Alicia can see it in her eyes, a new light, and through the way she’s suddenly sitting up with a spine like a pole.) “Can you remember what war paint _you_ had?”

It’s one of the most vivid parts of the dream. “It was a thick band, from my eyes downwards; it went up to my eyebrows and below my eyes. But there were these – tendrils, or, trails, three trails going down my cheeks. Like tears – but black, and thicker,” she relays easily.

“Ace,” the other girl grins, a layer of awe in her voice. “I bet that looked badass. Can you remember any other designs?”

The brunette crosses her arms as she thinks. The dream she’s thinking of featured _her_ war paint as the only memorable design – but there was someone else when that unconscious illusion transitioned into another dream. She knows it was on the same timeline as the previous dream (she has a feeling that all her recent ones are, weirdly), but it’s long after – years, even. There’s no fighting; just a ceremony. And this girl next to her – blonde hair and thin war paint, is all she remembers, no specifics about her face or anything – had bands of paint, trailing from the ends of her temples to the middle of each eye. Reaching the outside and smoothed under it.

A question pops into her mind; she chooses to ask it instead. “Do you want to put some on? Is that why you’re asking?”

“ _Hell_ yeah,” is Elyza’s immediate reply. (Alicia rolls her eyes; of course that was her plan.) “I’ve got charcoal. Let me find it.”

As she rises from the chair, Elyza hesitates, remembering other things she might have to attend to. But she dismisses them with a wave of her hand – and the smile on Alicia’s lips is still intact when the other girl returns.

“Put it on me, just go for it,” the blonde instructs, excitement creeping into every part of her as the tin of charcoal is placed ungracefully down on the table.

“It’s a really plain design,” Alicia warns, but the shrug the blonde gives her – coupled with the stubborn determination in her eyes – tells the Californian all she needs to know.

The room hums with the silence between them as Alicia dips her index and middle fingers into the charcoal, and shuffles in her chair to lean closer to the blonde. There are no words shared, just focus, as the brunette gently takes Elyza’s head with her clean fingers, and presses down on the skin at the edge of the girl’s right temple. Slowly, slowly, her charcoal-coated fingertips drag across the other girl’s skin, for her finger to stop when she reaches Elyza’s eye.

 She doesn’t watch Elyza watching her intently, doesn’t make contact with the eyes that remind her of a blue sky flecked with stars. She can’t – she has to concentrate.)

Her fingertips return to their original position, only a bit lower down; she applies some more pressure as she presses down on the blonde’s face. The murky black path her fingertips make stop further forward than the first band, the slant sloping upward so the band is fuller in its place above the blonde’s cheekbone.

Despite the bump she encountered thanks to the scar Elyza’s achieved, her hands didn’t tremble once, so it’s as straight as she can get it. A feeling of pride sparks in her chest again.

(Only then is she aware of Elyza’s shallower breaths, exhaled _so close_ to her. Only then do her fingertips tingle with the memory of Elyza’s skin underneath the blackened pads.

She’s so soft.

Elyza Lex, this fierce girl, standing firm at the fall of civilisation – there is a hidden tenderness to everything she is.

Alicia has to swallow to push down any stupid, stupid reactions.)

She takes a deep breath and carries on.

With her left index and middle finger, this time, she copies her previous actions, but starting now on the left temple. It’s not as steady, as this isn’t her main hand (and that’s what she’ll tell the Aussie if she questions her about it), but it’s good enough to satisfy her.

It only takes a minute or two at the most, and then it’s done. Straightening up in her chair and thinking back to her dream, she can see it’s not entirely accurate, but it will do. It will do.

It’s then that she hazards a glance at the other girl – and catches Elyza in a clearly very private moment. Her eyes are darker, storm clouds raging around black hole pupils, but the rest of her face is carefully blank. She’s not looking directly at Alicia, no, but lower.

It passes in a moment; she blinks herself back to life and immediate an easy smile spreads on her face. But the brunette is caught off guard. She’s never seen that before. She’s learned in the few days she’s known the Australian that Elyza will always, always relate what she's thinking in her eyes – but the rest of her face is equally as expressive. To have nothing showing – nothing, not even a grimace – while her eyes are so, so dark… It's not a good sign.

(It’s different to the moment with the knives. The blonde’s eyes were blank, then. Curious, maybe. But there was no dark intention or dark thoughts or whatever Elyza could be thinking behind those eyes. It was different.)

Rationality takes over – she’s making something out of nothing. She's only known the girl for five days; she can’t hope to know everything about her. She can’t hope to know all she feels.

“Done,” Alicia informs the other girl with an even voice. There’s no indication of the battle warring inside her mind right now. (Look, rationality thinks. Look how easy it is. There are no bad intentions here, are there? Just concern. And she won’t know.)

“Alright,” Elyza beams, and jumps up to wander to the bathroom. She's back not a minute later, her smile even wider, somehow.

Alicia pushes any concern aside; her smile stretches at the Aussie’s enthusiasm.

“This is really cool, ‘Licia, seriously. I look even more badass than badass. How about that?” The words are barely out of her mouth before she jumps into her seat again. “Now, you need to get dressed, and then you can let me do you.”

Alicia raises an eyebrow – she well and truly caught that innuendo – which does _absolutely nothing_ to prevent the slight reddening of her cheeks. And Elyza notices, because apparently Elyza has a skill for noticing when the Californian is embarrassed.

“Not like _that_ , God,” the blonde teases lightly. “You and your filthy mind, I swear.”

The completely unamused look Alicia sends Elyza’s way makes the Aussie smile even more as the brunette moves to get up to move into her – the bedroom. And, God, Alicia swears, this girl is insufferable.

(She changes her clothes for the last time in this house. She throws the covers over the bed for the last time in this house. She takes in every detail of the bedroom, for the last time, in this house. She can’t deny it; she’ll miss this place.)

As soon as the brunette returns to her seat – bowl and spoon suddenly gone from their place at the dinner table – the leather-clad girl launches back into the task at hand. “Okay, so, I don’t know if I can get your war paint right just from description, but I’ll tr— no, _wait_ , I’ve got supplies.”

The Californian watches with minimum interest and the blonde unpacks the entirety of her backpack to find something; it’s eventually apparent that Elyza is fishing for _art_ supplies, when she finally unearths her pad and some pencils. She roughly shoves everything else inside the bag again, and immediately opens the pad onto a new piece of paper. She says nothing while she sketches out a rough drawing of Alicia’s face, but Alicia watches anyway.

All of this happens with chaotically precise speed. Two minutes later, the brunette has the drawing of her face pushed in front of her, and the Aussie holds a pencil out for her to take. The request is silent, but understood anyway, and she takes the pencil gingerly before recalling what the war paint looked like.

Only when she has a pretty good idea of what the design looked like does she draw. It feels weird, drawing on what is clearly a sharper and more angular version of her face (has her jawline always been that defined or is it Elyza’s style of art?), but she takes her time to get it right. She wants it to be as exact as possible.

It’s enough for the blonde, who gives Alicia an approving nod when she’s finished, and she sits perfectly still as the other girl demurely dips her fingers into the charcoal pot and studies the drawing with perfect professionalism.

Maybe, in another life, Elyza could’ve been inspecting ink designs whilst getting the tattoo needle ready. But they’re in this life, and it does not do to dwell on what hasn’t happened.

(She’s a hypocrite, she knows, for thinking that mantra. But she’s _trying_ , okay?)

Again, nothing is said as Elyza spreads the charcoal across her face. Alicia’s not prepared for the sensation of Elyza’s fingertip, despite having _seen_ her lean forward to apply the murky black material – even though she’s felt how gentle the blonde can be before, it’s very different in this situation. Elyza’s softer touches make her start, and the smile it pulls from the other girl makes her understand why she could never be straight in the first place.

She settles again, after frowning grumpily (and only for show) at the girl in front of her, and she closes her eyes as she falls into feeling of the soft strokes across her face. The charcoal is dry and crumbly, in stark contrast to Elyza’s fingertips, and the sensation of it keeps her from falling too much into this moment and think about things she shouldn’t be thinking about – but she’s content enough just to close her eyes and let the Australian do her magic.

Yet with every stroke, she’s taken back to her dream, to the fantasy world she was in. She’s bringing that world to her reality, in the same instance that she’s falling back into that world. She remembers the feelings it elicited from her – the horror, the bloodlust, the excitement, the sheer adrenaline pounding through her heart as she grabbed and slashed, twirled and stabbed. Her character – she never once heard her name called out, always _commander_ , or something that _sounded_ like “leader” – she was at the heart of it all, and the pride came not from the bloodlust, but the peace that had been salvaged because of the victory in this dirty, bloody war.

Like a beacon for her people, she’d stood in the middle, the dirtied war paint an indication for who she was, who she was _for them_. That was why she loved it so much, despite the atrocities her character had committed because of it, because of her position. She’d saved so many, ensured their lives had blossomed, by sacrificing the few.

Elyza’s hand curls around her cheek as her charcoal-tipped fingers descend down to over Alicia’s clear-cut cheekbones, coming up twice on one side of her face before replicating the three same lines on the other side. She feels the charcoal cascade down the skin like tears, like blood – and she is thankful that, as of yet, she’s only ever spilled blood that was meant to be still.

(Walkers no longer count as people. That rule was established early on.)

Elyza leans back, a proud smile on her face, and the Californian imitates that smile. She feels more prepared, now, to face that horrible world head on. It’s kind of crazy, how a very select design of _charcoal on her face_ can make her feel like this – but it’s true.

(The war paint helps. That rule is now established.)

“Badass,” Elyza smirks, and Alicia grins – because she knows. “You ready to go now?”

Alicia nods. She doesn’t quite trust her mouth right now – she’s too full of _something_ to really speak.

“In that case, I’ll meet you in the truck. I’m just gonna make sure everything’s ready in the house and lock up. I’ll take – five minutes, max. You got everything? All your knives?”

Considering the knives are really the only possessions she can even claim as her own, apart from the clothes she’s wearing, she nods and manages to get out a simple, “I’ll see you in the truck,” before both girls are off about their business.

It doesn’t take long for her to fetch her knives – she grabs the one she took from the superstore, and two of Elyza’s spares. Before she leaves, though, she remembers a small detail and fishes the smaller leather jacket from the wardrobe in the bedroom she was sleeping in, before proceeding to get settled in the truck. The ranch house is in full view in front of her, and she spies the blonde flitting about for a few more minutes before the other girl joins her, flinging all but her first backpack in the back of the truck, and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Ready?”

Another nod.

And when Elyza puts Ark into gear and guides her away from the house, Alicia doesn’t look back.

That’s about as poignant as the moment gets, because very quickly that feeling dissipates thanks to her boredom of being stuck in the truck. The blonde to her left is quiet – well, she’s humming, which is about as quiet as a satisfied Elyza gets – and she didn’t bring anything to entertain herself. She sort of wishes she’d taken one of the books from the bookcase – but that’s a stupid idea; she gets carsick if she reads for too long in a moving vehicle.

So. She’s bored. It’s a lot like her first journey with Elyza, except her animosity towards the blonde has now been replaced with an easy sort of affection towards the Australian. She’s also got the tumultuous feeling of not really knowing whether she’ll see her family today or not – _and_ that annoying ‘unfamiliar familiarity’ feeling is back, because of the war paint. It’s not making her… _uncomfortable_ , as such, just unsettled. Like there’s a question she needs to answer, and the answer is sitting right next to her in this vehicle. And until the time’s right, she’ll never quite know what it is.

Looking across to see Verde in the distance, she reflects on feeling  like she’s stuck between two states of being, somehow, like she’s been caught transitioning between them. She’s going back to what she knows, but she’s still tethered to the time she’s had with Elyza. It’s like she’s meshing her future and her past into one – and, come to think of it, hasn’t it always been like this with the blonde girl next to her? Elyza offered to help her find her family, people she knew from before, knowing full well that her future was at risk.

Maybe, Elyza’s decision was her giving Alicia back her past. But this is where she’s wrong; what Alicia hopes to see isn’t her past – that’s gone now. She’s holding on to the feelings she has in the present. She is attached to what is left of her family _now_. So she needs to see them. It’s not about memories or what might have happened, what could have happened. It’s about what she feels now.

What she feels now, she knows – as her stomach twists when she looks over to the Aussie to her left – is a confusing mess of yearning for her family, blurry feelings towards Elyza, and the unsettling sensation brought on by the war paint. It’s a mess, but she’s clutching on to the one thing she _is_ certain of: she’s determined to see her family again. She’s got to see her family again. Everything else can be delayed.

Elyza groans suddenly, and the brunette’s eyes flicker to the other girl’s again, curious. Elyza meets her gaze and explains, with trepidation, “Gas is lower than I thought. We’ll reach Nipomo on this tank if we’re lucky.”

Well, that’s great, really. The Californian sighs loudly and crosses her arms, glowering out of the window. She wants to do as less walking as possible today. She wants to get down to Port Hueneme.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” the Australian grimaces. “Look, we’ll be fine. We can get there. Trust me.”

Alicia decides to – it’s not like she’s got anything better to do, is it? – and watches as the blonde eyes the fuel gauge nervously. The smile that had been plastered on Elyza’s face disappears with every minute that passes, and soon she is scowling, glaring, at the instrument on the dashboard. It can’t be a good sign, surely.

Eventually, the two of them find out that their worst fears are _not_ realised; the truck rolls into Nipomo on gas fumes, and Elyza comfortably eases the truck into a parking lot before bringing it to a stop. The sigh of relief doesn’t translate onto her face, though; the brunette can tell that the Australian’s going to be crabby until her beloved truck gets its fuel.

She doesn’t think she has the capacity to deal with a moody Elyza right now. But it’s not like she has a choice.

The blonde waits a second, letting the Sun shine through the truck windows onto her jeans, creating clear-cut shapes like art. But then she’s shoving the door open and jumping out; the Californian has no other choice but to follow.

“We’ve gotta find a gas station,” is what Elyza tells her as soon as Alicia’s door slams shut. When Alicia walks over, she can see Elyza is rummaging through her first backpack, sunglasses already on and a Glock already in her hand. “Otherwise we won’t get anywhere. Also water would be a pretty good idea. If you know anything about this town, then don’t keep it to yourself, ‘cause I know fuck all about this place.”

Alicia’s been through Nipomo a few times. It’s small enough to not attract too many visitors, but big enough for a gas station. As for walkers, it should be pretty easy to hold them off; there won’t be too many of them around.

“I think we just keep walking down the main street,” Alicia supplies.

Elyza nods, and they’re off.

The Sun is beating down on them – not as hot as it has been the last few days, but enough for the brunette to wish she had shades on. The Sun keeps getting in her eyes and she can’t read the street signs properly. She doesn’t even complain, not really, but the Australian notices her discomfort and shoves her sunglasses in Alicia’s hands and walks off in front of her before she can protest.

(Nice to know that grumpy Elyza is still a caring Elyza. Or maybe she’s pissed at Alicia silent griping and wants her to stop. She wouldn’t put it past her.)

The town isn’t very big at all; they cover a lot of ground in a relatively short time. It’s good, because it means there’s less chance of being attacked by the undead – but they’re well-prepared anyway. Elyza has her gun and Alicia has her knives. They can blast and slash the zombies into oblivion. Still – it doesn’t stop them from worrying. Everything is falling to pieces around them, and for Alicia, it’s reassuring to have some stability in the way she grips her knife. A steady, smooth constant.

The buildings are crumbling around them. Worn, torn, poster examples of an old world in a new age, the girls look on with caution and guarded pity as they walk. These homes, these offices, these buildings, are the ones that didn’t survive the apocalypse. The Californian thinks back to that mantra – _life should be about more than just surviving_ – and wonders if Elyza is thinking that, too. They cannot live if they cannot survive; that’s where the balance lies.

The buildings got it wrong – no, the people of Nipomo did. And that’s where Alicia and Elyza went wrong, too – not that they tried to live, but that they put living before surviving. The buildings’ punishment is destruction; Alicia’s is a possible missed chance.

One of the sun-baked shops catches her eye. She’s not quite sure why it does – it’s literally the same sort of building they’ve been staring at for a while now, just collapsed at the back – but something, _something_ , is pulling her in. Maybe it’s the way it strikes her as some sort of treasure chest, or maybe it’s the way something is glinting in the Sun, but she’s walking over to the shop before she can stop herself. She ignores Elyza’s shouting and cursing as she gets pulled in, and yanks the shattered door open to explore inside.

There’s glass on the floor (she prays none of it gets lodged into her pumps) so she does her best to step over that as she pads around, eyes wide and her sunglasses on the top of her head. The Aussie’s behind her, waiting in the doorway with a highly unimpressed look on her face – but the scowl lifts on her face as they both realise what sort of objects are on display here.

Weapons. It must have been a collection, because there are all sorts of different weapons – and both girls are _delighted_.

They’re impossibly dusty, of course, and need a good clean, but most of the weapons are in an otherwise sound condition and still work. Gingerly, the Australian creeps forward and lingers at the gun area of the shop display, swooning over the newer-looking pistols. Meanwhile, the brunette gravitates over to the blade section of the shop display. Her heart almost jumps out of its chest, because the most beautiful weapon on display is possibly the most dangerous.

And it’s beautiful. She might have mentioned that already.

The air hums around her as she gapes. Alicia has to see.

She places her knife down on the glass cabinet and lifts the sword of its perch, fingers tracing the lines on the charcoal black sheath (it’s all the design consists of, just lines criss-crossing in every direction possible, but Alicia thinks it works) as she gently holds it, immediately making an acquaintance with its weight. After studying the design, she gets to work on ridding the sheath of any dust and rubble that has fallen there. Then, carefully, gently, she unsheathes the sword – and it _zings_ with a crisp sound that sends satisfaction right down to the very tips of her toes.

The hilt she’s wrapped her hand around is of the same colour – that charcoal black, like her war paint – but it’s decorated in a swirling pattern of bright red lines, volcanic rock burning bright with fury and fire. The decoration continues of the guard, the bright red seeping through like cracks in the ground. (And yes, she knows some sword terminology; she’s watched enough shows on national Geographic to accumulate this sort of information.) Finally, on the pommel, she sees a little deign of a gear of some sort. There are two circles; the lines in between the two of them don’t align with the cogs on the outside of the bigger circle. That, too, is that bright red. She doesn’t know the significance of the gear, why it’s been chosen – but that doesn’t detract _at all_ from how striking the sword is.

“Elyza, look at _this_ ,” she whispers, watching as the smooth metal catches the light. It’s a sharp blade, there’s no doubt about that, and Alicia hopes she never find herself on the wrong end of it.

Elyza whistles low. “That’s beaut, ‘Licia. You just found that here?”

“Yeah,” Alicia responds, non-committal; her eyes are still trained on the sword and her whole _being_ is buzzing with how it feels in her grip, how easy it feels to hold it and swish it like she is.

“Shit, we really found a jackpot here.” The brunette can hear the Aussie’s grin without even looking at her. But she does, enough time later for the grin to fade, and she finds Elyza looking back at her.

The hues in Elyza’s eyes are made subtler by the war paint. But she is just as expressive in her lack of expression; again – there’s that unreadable expression, like the one Alicia saw on Elyza’s face when she picked up the knives in the super store that first day together. But now there’s something darker lurking, like dread. Maybe the blonde doesn’t like swords as much as she does knives.

It’s gone before the Californian can really deliberate on it, though, and Alicia brushes it off too.

“Maybe we did,” Alicia muses, and places the sword back in its sheath. No matter what Elyza’s feelings are towards swords, she’s keeping this one. She sets her mind to finding a strap for her to use, as Elyza goes back to snooping around. Eventually, she does find it – down by the back of the cabinet, filthy with rubble and dust, and she spends five minutes just cleaning the strap before slinging around herself and attaching the sheath to it.

The blonde has gone to find out if there were any more weapons around the back – “I suppose I shouldn’t get any more guns, they’re almost a liability at this point…” – and Alicia looks up from adjusting her strap when the Aussie returns. She hasn’t returned empty-handed; she has two padded vests in her hands, and she looks at the brunette with a smug smile proudly painted on her face.

“We’re in luck,” are the words that come out of the blonde’s mouth, and Alicia raises her eyebrow in cynical curiosity. “Bulletproof vests. Found them further down. I figure they could be handy if we're driving down to Port Hueneme. We can’t not come into contact with some other buggers walking around.”

Alicia is still unconvinced.

Elyza sighs in exasperation, but continues anyway. “It’s a human-eat-human world out here, right? People are going mad with this surviving thing. People are gonna be flighty; people are gonna point guns at us. So I thought – why not protect ourselves? We can beat the suckers, make them regret they ever shot at us. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be a real-life victim of that lame ass TV trope where all the queer ladies die. And that covers you too, so you should definitely put it on.”

The brunette studies the bulletproof vest for a second – it’s bulky, and the jacket won’t fit over it. Looks like she’ll have to leave that here if she wears the vest. At the sight of the Australian’s impatience, she makes a snap decision and flings off the leather jacket she got from the ranch house, and steps forward to take the nearest vest from the closest hand to her. The other girl’s satisfied smile is small – she’s in a mood, of course it’s small – but it’s what Alicia was aiming for, so she considers it a success as she removes the sword and strap, and Elyza’s sunglasses, and puts it on. After a moment's hesitation, she takes off the plaid shirt and ties it around her waist, before replacing the sword on her back.

It’s still bulky, but whatever. She’s trying to get as safe as safe gets.

Elyza does the same – she takes off her outer clothing (her leather jacket) and ties it around her waist, after putting on the vest herself. She pats it down a few times, making sure she's satisfied with it, before her eyes alight on the edge of the scabbard not shielded by Alicia’s frame. 

“Hey, do you think there are any more of those things around?” the Aussie enquires, nodding to the sword on Alicia’s back.

The Californian frowns in thought for a second, before moving to search around the back of the broken sword cabinet. She thinks she remembers seeing more swords; it’s more than likely, given how large the ruined cabinet is, and how well-kitted out this store seems to be. After about twenty seconds of snooping, she finds her targets – two swords, smaller than the red and charcoal one on her back and without any scabbards to protect them, but crafted in the same way. As she gets them out, she inspects them; even underneath all the dust and dirt, she can deduce that these are older swords. More used, even. They’ll be blunter than her new sword, so they won’t be as effective when slicing through zombie brains. It’s not like they’re totally useless, though.

Her eyes fall back onto the blonde. Elyza walks forward, holding out a hand to take one. Once in her hand, she studies with the same intensity as Alicia did. “Bonzer. It doesn’t look too bad, does it? You could have a fair go at defending yourself with this.” An idea comes to life in the blonde's mind – “D’you think you’ll be any good with one of these?”

The other girl shrugs. Considering her surprising natural aptitude for any weapons with blades, she doesn’t think she’ll be embarrassingly bad. “I think so. …Why?” Suddenly she’s interested in the direction the Australian is going with this.

The smirk on Elyza’s face is tight-lipped, but it’s still a smirk. “Shall we test that? We won’t stab each other, not if we're careful. But we could see if you’re as good enough as you think.”

In the quiet of the moment, surrounded by all these weapons, all these objects to make her formidable, the brunette feels strong. Like she can rise up to Elyza’s challenge. Like she is good enough to fight with swords, even though she's never really used one before. So – she lifts her head up, and sets her jaw, before answering, “I will be good enough.”

“Show me.” It’s sharp, intended to tease.

Alicia squares her shoulders, her mind racing with all the possibilities, and all the excitement. “Fine. First one to get hit on the vest loses.”

Fingers dart out of her periphery; Elyza snaps up her sunglasses and fixes on them her face. “That’s my girl,” she grins.

The Sun is high in the sky behind the Californian; she can see the girl in front of her without any distractions or obstacles. The blonde is standing, feet shoulder width apart, holding the sword in her left hand and swinging it lightly. She’s got a wicked smirk etched onto her face, absolutely singing with her cockiness and confidence. If she didn’t have her sunglasses on now, Alicia would’ve been able to see the glint of arrogance in Elyza’s eyes too. She must have some experience with fencing or whatever; maybe she got it from the place she learned how to shoot. Either way, she thinks she's too good for Alicia.

And Alicia’s going to prove her wrong.

(She’s decided. Elyza’s ego needs to be kicked down a few notches. She thinks it'd be an honour if she were the one to do that.)

She stamps her feet quietly on the ground, getting used to the weight of the sword in her hand when in different positions. The sword is heavier than the one on her back, more clunky – but she was expecting that. She was expecting a more difficult weapon. But it's fine, because she can learn, and adapt. All that matters is that she protects her body from any of the Aussie’s attacks, and that she sneaks in a jab at the other girl's bulletproof vest.

“Alright, ‘Licia, let’s establish some ground rules.” Elyza’s voice rings out in the street, reverberates off building walls and rushes down the road. “First – we're not trying to kill each other. That'd be shitty, and we don’t have time for that. Second – we don’t have time for gaping wounds either, so if we slice off a leg or anything, the blame is 100% on the person who cut it off. Third – aim for the bulletproof vest only. Shouldn’t be too hard. And, finally – at any sign of being disturbed, from walkers and shit, we stop. This is a little bit of fun, but we're still in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, alright?”

Alicia nods, and readies herself to fight.

“Ace,” the other girl smirks. “Let’s go.” Without warning, she lunges at the brunette – and Alicia yelps, dodging the jab and deflecting it with her sword at the last second. The Australian laughs in her victory and attacks again.

Damn it. The Californian should've known that Elyza would play dirty.

It is just playing, really – their smiles widen with every lunge and every parry. They're not really taking the situation seriously, and it shows when they spend at least half a minute messing around and letting their swords clash over and over again. The brunette even forgets she’s supposed to be hitting the blonde's bulletproof vest for a second. She’s content to just fuck around with this, letting the tension go, just allowing herself to enjoy the playing while she can.

She’s reminded of the aim of the game when Elyza suddenly sidesteps and delivers a more powerful blow than what the other girl was expecting; the sword shudders in Alicia’s hands and she grunts at the impact as the blades collide, a sharp reminder of the danger they could hold ringing through the air.

“Didn’t you say you were good at this?” the Aussie mocks her. She’s as lithe as a lioness, this girl, and she knows it. She’s breathing arrogance right now, secure in the knowledge that she could end this little game at any second, if she wanted to.

The brunette is determined not to give her that satisfaction. “This is messing around. You haven’t seen me fight,” Alicia retorts – because something in her knows this is not proper fighting. She wants to test herself on how far she can take this; more than anything, she wants to show the blonde that she is more than just a pretty face.

Feet apart now, enough to give the Californian a significant amount of support, she pushes forward and slashes down at Elyza’s right side. Elyza deflects it easily, and aims for the brunette’s chest, to her left. And – instinctively, that feeling of unfamiliar familiarity rising up like an air bubble in her throat – Alicia twirls her way to out of Elyza’s aim, a full turn of subconscious skill, before throwing her sword forwards toward the Aussie's left hipbone.

Elyza growls in surprise at the action, but manages to fend the attack off. Her smirk goes slack – now it’s more of a frown, uncertainty tugging at the corners. In retaliation, she quickens the pace of the fight, but Alicia can cope with the more thrilling speed – and the blonde’s confused frown gets deeper still.

On the other hand, the Californian’s heart is pumping wildly with exhilaration. She’s found her footing now, and it’s like the sword is simply an extension of her hand; she guides it with ease as the other girl tries to slash at her. As her mind sinks into the moment, she starts to second guess Elyza’s predictable movements half a second before the Australian makes them, responding with a block and an equally as powerful thrust. The brunette is performing a dangerous dance now, tiptoeing at the edge of letting go and immersing herself in the elation of the swordfight – but she cannot help herself. It is freeing to be like this, to pirouette and mirror her opponent as if it is second nature to her, to feel the blunt but formidable sword collide with the blonde’s over and over again; it is freeing to hear them clash and hear them sing, and her blood is singing with the swords, she is shining with them.

They never hurt each other, not once, but both girls are pouring all the energy they have into this, hearts pounding in time as they attack, block, feint and lunge. The footwork they use is fancy, the brunette's dancing more elaborate than Elyza’s; the shapes they make with their blades are magnificently hazardous. Both find some strength in that – that they are both good at this, that they can pull this off. But what the blonde is feeling about the situation is singed with a sense of hasty trepidation, while the brunette is bathing in the glow of her skill, basking in her victorious slashes as her opponent’s defence crumbles underneath her power. They are at two sides of the coin – joined in their battle, similar in their pace, but the brunette is losing herself to the beautiful dance while the blonde is removed and reluctant.

She has tipped over, fallen into the feeling. She is shining like the swords, eyes as intense as a warrior's, and she is no longer just Alicia Clark.

At a closer proximity, her dodges and dashes can push the Australian back to submission. She surges forward and focuses her strength on the other girl’s shoulders, where Elyza is weakest; with little more than a exhalation to indicate the assertion, she moves to aim for the blonde’s left shoulder. Elyza’s automatic defence exposes her wrist – the brunette slams the hilt of her sword into the Aussie’s wrists and hooks her foot around her opponent's ankles.

The blonde's sword flies out of her hand, and the girl herself goes crashing to the ground. Her sunglasses fall off from the impact, getting scratched on the asphalt, and the brunette immediately stands over Elyza, the tip of her weapon hovering over the Australian’s chest.

She is caught in the moment, breathing heavily with her victim underneath her. But then the undiluted fear in Elyza’s eyes tether her back to reality – she snaps back into herself and scrambles back to let the blonde sit up. The sword chatters loudly on the ground as she drops it by her side.

Alicia is numb with shock – eyes wide, mind ringing with worry as she tries to work out what just came over her. But she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

The Australian's laugh is shaky, her eyes stormy. “Okay, so,” she exhales lightly, the cheery sound contrasting against the tense undertones, “what the fuck was that?”

The Californian can’t answer. “I…”

“Where did you learn that from? Why did you lie?” Elyza scowls at her; the blonde sits up and grabs her sunglasses, frowning at the damage they’ve had inflicted on them before putting them on and focusing her attention on Alicia again. “You could've just said you knew how to use a sword; you didn’t have to downplay it. Would've saved me the embarrassment of landing on my arse, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know what happened, ‘Lyza,” the brunette tries to explain – and, God, she must sound like an idiot right now, because she can’t deny the truth. Especially in this situation. “I don’t know, I swear, I—“

“Then why the fuck were you pulling off some fancy shit there, huh?” the Aussie snaps. She stands, cautiously, and shakes out both of her legs as a way to check them. “Because no 17 year old trapped in Californian suburbia should be able to be that good at sword fighting if she's never used a sword before!”

The feeling that has been haunting Alicia ever since Elyza saved her has risen up again, and she tries to swallow it down. Over the last few days, she’s just thought of her natural talent with bladed weapons as a lucky coincidence – but she has to admit, there is something very, very weird about it. She never had a chance to go into combative sports at school, yet she was spinning a foot-long blade like she’s been wielding it for the majority of her life.

What scares her more than anything is that now she’s shown she can do some damage with it, she doesn’t know how to justify it – because she has no idea where it comes from, and no idea where it _could_ come from.

Looking over to the Aussie, breaths shallow like her own, the hesitation around the brunette, it scares her that she doesn't know, because she’s afraid of Elyza abandoning her because of it. It scares her because she’s afraid of not knowing something about herself.

(In this world, you can’t take any chances. Predictability is a helpful way to survive in an unpredictable world.)

Alicia exhales shakily. “I’m sor—” the words catch in her throat on their way up and she clears her throat before trying again. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to happen. I – don’t know where that came from, and I...”

“That doesn’t make sense, Alicia,” the blonde scolds her.

“I _know_ ,” is the other girl’s immediate retort, “I _know_ it doesn’t make sense. But if you want me to confess that I lied to you and wanted to make you look like an idiot, then I _can’t_ , and I _won’t_ , because that isn’t what happened. I just – it just took over me, and I swear, I didn’t feel like myself. I’m sorry it doesn’t make sense, and I’m sorry I took it too far, but I didn’t do it out of spite, I _promise_.”

Elyza’s expression is stony, rigid, as she brings her head up from inspecting the hole at the elbow of her leather jacket still around her waist. She studies Alicia for a few seconds, ten at the most, and then scoffs to herself and turns away. “This is messed up,” she mutters. “This is messing with my head.” And then, quieter, “You mess with my head.”

The Californian looks down at the ground, swallowing thickly. This _is_ messed up. Things are coming back to her, trickling down into her mind like a dripping water pipe, but none of it makes sense except for the fact that it _can’t_ make sense.

(She’s deliberately choosing not to mull over Elyza’s last sentence, because that, too, will mess with her head. And that’s not an option right now.)

“Alright, why don’t we…” the Aussie searches for the right words to say, cutting through the thick, tense silence. It’s the sound of flicking on a light switch in a pitch black room– bringing too much, too quickly. “Why don’t we just keep walking to find a gas station? And then maybe you can tell me how you got a place where you were about to kill me.”

The brunette’s hand twitches, instinct jumping to defend herself, jumping to portray the hurt she feels as Elyza’s standoffishness – but she holds herself back. The blonde got kicked off her feet and pinned down by the tip of a sword. She’s allowed to feel a little bit pissed.

The tension and the silence are back as they walk. They walk together like they always do – closely, no more than five inches apart – but it feels like there is a chasm between them. A chasm of ignorance, Alicia decides. The Australian doesn’t know what happened back then, and the Californian doesn’t know how to dispel any of the doubts the other girl may have. Neither of them know how to jump across and get to the goal they want.

Alicia’s going to try, though.

She jumps, and stumbles. “Um.” Wow, great start there.

Elyza keeps walking, her boots barely making a sound at all on the ground, before staring at the brunette and raising an eyebrow.

The other girl can see the eyebrow rise above the frame of the sunglasses, and takes that as her cue to talk; she tries again. “It was never my intention to kill you,” she utters, expelling the truth from her lungs. She figures that’s the part of the fight that’s worrying the blonde the most.

“Then how did you get there? Talk me through it. How did you get from being the girl who once didn’t know how to throw a knife to being the girl who pinned me down with a sword? I don’t understand a bloody thing.” Elyza slams her foot down particularly hard at that last bit.

Alicia winces, unsure whether her response is going to be enough to placate the Australian.  “All I know is that the fighting… it _felt like_ I’d been taught that. I was going through the motions. I was going by what I’d been taught – different moves, looking for weaknesses – but – but I’ve never been taught that before. You were right – I’m a teenager who was trapped in Californian suburbia, and I have no fucking clue where I got those skills.” She frowns as she goes over the memory, stepping over a pile of rubble in the process. “It was like… it wasn’t all me. I’d been removed from the situation. I was half-conscious of it. I only realised how far I’d gone afterwards, but I knew how far I _would_ have gone – I wouldn’t have gone any further. I placed the sword on your chest because that’s how the fight ends. I would have stepped away. And I did. But the reality only came back to me after I’d got you pinned underneath me.”

The other girl smirks automatically, and Alicia goes red as she spots the innuendo in her last words. But that innuendo was never the purpose of those words, and Elyza’s smirk is short-lived.

It survives longer than the brunette expected it to, though; she’s surprised it even existed at all.

“You _felt like_ you were taught some warrior-type shit? That’s… That’s crazy, ‘Licia.”

(The Californian breathes an undetectable sigh of relief when Elyza uses the nickname to address her. It shouldn’t calm her as much as it does, but she sort of knows the reason why – and the fact that the Aussie’s using it again is a good sign.)

“So is the zombie apocalypse, but look what we found ourselves in,” she quips, and her smile returns when she hears the Australian’s short burst of a chuckle.

(Yeah. She crossed the chasm.)

It’s then that the gas station _finally_ comes into view; Alicia has to shield her eyes from the Sun again, but it’s unmistakeably a gas station. Doesn’t look too damaged by the whole end of the world thing either. To her right, Elyza gives off a yelp of joy, and Alicia has to suddenly dart forward to even catch up with overly enthusiastic blonde. (Honestly, anyone else would think the other girl’s just won the lottery.) After a few mandatory checks – Elyza’s gun is primed and ready as they inspect the area, weapon in her hands and ready to shoot, while the brunette (with some difficulty) manages to get her sword out of its scabbard – they decide that this place is as good as any to steal some gas from. Elyza quickly splits away from her to locate the gasoline, assuring the Californian that it’ll only take two minutes at most to find them, and she’ll call the brunette when she needs help dragging the boxes to the truck. She won’t be far off; she’ll be in hearing range. With that, the Australian is gone, leaving off a faint whiff of leather, sweat and her own scent – and Alicia has nothing to do except look out for any dangers and ignore the fact that she wants the blonde back already.

(She just feels… safer with her around. Not that Alicia has been particularly safe around her recently.)

She can hear Elyza pottering around, her boots making no sound but her absent-minded singing keeping Alicia aware of her whereabouts. That’s good enough for the brunette; with a nod to herself, a reminder that she’ll be okay, she heads inside to the gas station, half-expecting to be ambushed by some delirious survivor or a walker waiting for its next meal.

It’s silent. No - thrumming with absence; that’s a better description. It feels alive with how dead it is, and Alicia doesn’t even have it in her to be shocked by that anymore. Every building she’s been in and got out alive from has been like this – acutely aware of its own desolation, of its own destruction.

The door doesn’t sit in its hinges anymore; it’s lying shattered on the floor beside the doorframe. The Californian steps over the metal and glass without a second thought and peers inside, wincing as her new sword catches the light and shines it in her eye. The windows have all been broken, letting light come through in shafts, but it’s pretty bright in here anyway. She can see, the food’s been taken by other survivors before her (damn, she was hoping she could get some Reese’s or something), but everything else seems stocked. Packed. Still crammed together as if it’s not the end of the world.

Not to mention, it’s hot as hell in here. Alicia could do with stripping off her bulletproof vest right now; it’s getting stuffy. (Why did she even agree to wear this, anyway?)

Right, so. There’s nothing to do but wait. Great. The Californian huffs a sigh and walks around, her head perking up every so often so she can keep catching the strains of 80s rock songs coming from the back of the station. Twirling her sword – this sword really is _so_ much better than the ones she and Elyza had played with earlier – she walks in a funny fashion down the aisles, scanning the titles of the magazines and outlets disinterestedly.

What a different world it was, she muses, as she recognises the faces of the celebrities in the photos. Hiding from the paparazzi, their pictures adorned with pointless, banal article titles about cheating and nasty ex-boyfriends.

Outside, she hears a crash, and a _very_ loud, “Ah, for _fuck’s sake_ , I coulda used that!”

She pokes her head out of the back doorway, twists her head to the left – the blonde’s general direction. “You okay, Elyza?”

“Bonzer!” the Aussie shouts back, the irritation at the situation leaking into her voice. “Just spilt some fuel! No deaths or anything over here.”

Alicia has no idea what to reply. Eventually, she offers a measly, “Shout me if you need anything.”

“Will do, Triple B.”

What a different fucking world.

The Californian heads back inside; she doesn’t know a thing about fuel, even though she can drive, so she’ll leave the blonde to that one. Besides, she found some books on sale. If they have to camp overnight at Port Hueneme, then she’ll need to be entertained, won’t she?

(And, no, Elyza is not a good enough substitution for entertainment, even though she can _hear_ the Australian quipping that joke in her head.)

Her sword is at her side now – not quite dragging along the stone cold floor, but relaxed enough – and she traipses through the aisles again, stifling a yawn. Car journeys always exhaust her like this; she hopes she can fall asleep in the truck when they get going again. She staved off tiredness these the past few days by actually sleeping in a bed, but if they’re unlucky, then she won’t be sleeping in her bed on the Abigail tonight. She’s got to be prepared for any eventuality.

Her eyes fall on the select few romance novels on the display. The shelf rattles as she picks up the first book – and rattles louder when she puts it straight back. The same uninspiring straight romance and adult content glaring salaciously at her. She’s not going to be reading that mind-numbing shit – she’ll only get teased _mercilessly_ by her companion for reading through that.

(She remembers being 12 and reading through one of her friend’s mom’s romance books. It was a dangerous thing to be doing – they all knew they’d be humiliated and scolded if they were caught. But they were never found out, and they flicked through a few of the pages before squealing in disgust and putting the books back. Her friend, Stacie, couldn’t look her mom in the eye for two weeks.)

Yeah, definitely not her thing. She wipes her hands as if she’s touched a zombie and moves on, eyes alighting on the sci-fi books. Oh, good, an actual _credible_ genre; she gravitates towards it and grabs the nearest one, hoping that this book will actually interest her this time. Her first impression, luckily, is that she’s been fortunate – the design looks pretty awesome, kind of tribal but also modern and sci-fi enough to remind Alicia of Elyza’s pointed shapes and sharp cheekbones in her drawings. Allowing a small smile to appear, she flips open the book and reads the first paragraph her eyes reach out for.

_Where hearts roam and grow together, so their souls follow. Like a blanket one used to cling onto at home, many find respite in the notion that soulmates – wherever the other comes from, wherever the other must go – will always find each other. Soulmates, though small, trek across the universe and across different lives to be close to one another again._

_And, she thinks – oh, isn’t that beautiful? Yet heart breaking in tandem. Living to love, to suffer, and to love, over and over again._

She can’t describe how it happens, this sensation – this sudden insurrection that invades her body when she reads the words – but this ‘unfamiliar familiarity’ comes back in full force and it’s so intense it’s indescribable. It’s more prominent than when it’s there in her dreams, or when Elyza cut open her arm on a broken plate a few nights back. It’s more prominent than when her leg started to ache unprompted. It hits her with a potency like nothing she’s ever felt before – as terrifying as the total autonomy of her body when she was fighting with Elyza, yet deeper, lurking underneath through undercurrents and whispers burnished into her blood. But she knows the words are the cause.

Her throat constricts; her lungs stop drawing in air. The words must be the cause. They need to go.

She slams the book shut and hurries away, eager for the feeling to subside. With every step, she can breathe easier, but the words are burned into her memory forever. That she’s sure of.

She’s so preoccupied with her adverse reaction to the book that she doesn’t notice the Australian’s returned victorious until Elyza stands in the doorway. Alicia jolts in surprise at the sight – the blonde standing there, sunglasses and smug smile in place, boots shoulder width apart with her gun tucked back into its holster and her backpack and rifle securely on while two fuel containers stand at her feet. The Sun shines into the gas station behind her, and it’s blinding.

The Sun doesn’t really help to display Elyza in a way the brunette should see her, not as this shockingly beautiful woman with the light shining on her like she’s an angel sent from heaven. (God, is she hearing herself right now? She’s as bad as one of those romance books.) And, yeah, okay, it’s her _own_ fault that Alicia’s viewing her friend in this completely non-platonic way – but it’s still _not helping_. She’d like to have a word with it, actually, to ask if it can cut this out – so she can get to Port Hueneme and not worry about her attraction to this stupidly confident badass of an Australian.

“Alicia?” the Aussie’s voice snaps Alicia back to reality. She automatically flinches, still expecting the anger in Elyza’s voice to be thick in the air, humming in harmony with her self-inflicted unease, despite the fact that she knows the Aussie is okay with her now. But it doesn’t reach her, of course it doesn’t. The blonde’s calm. “Time to go, sweetheart. D’you wanna help me carry one of these?” She gestures down to the bright red containers.

It spurs her into action; she jumps forward, leaving this godforsaken gas station behind to help her friend. The container full of gasoline is heavy – and she’s glad she’s got her hands free; she needs _both_ of them to carry _one_ – so when Elyza sees her visibly struggling and teases her for being so weak, Alicia tells her that she’s lucky the brunette can’t lift it up to whack her. The Aussie just laughs and continues walking, muscles straining but ultimately (and frustratingly) content.

On the plus side, Elyza’s mood has improved considerably. The smiles forming on her rosy lips are unrestrained, unstrained, and she seems to be less flighty. The Californian hopes against hope that she’s been a part of this sudden extra mood lift – but if she’s honest, she knows the appearance of the truck fuel has done the trick. She can’t underestimate the blonde’s love for that pickup truck. Apparently it’s more important than her friendships with humans.

(Then again – considering the general disposition of humanity now, it’s not hard to see why. Everyone’s either dead, shooting others dead, or terrified of both the dead and the very much _not_ dead.)

The blonde’s face when the pickup truck comes into view – unscathed apart from what has already been inflicted upon the chassis – is like she’s being reunited with a long-lost lover. Alicia finds it hard to keep her smirk hidden. She knows she fails, because Elyza scolds her for making a mockery of “this beautiful moment”.

God, she wishes her phone was working so she could video the blonde murmuring to the vehicle as she pours the fuel in. Elyza would kill her if she ever did, though. But the brunette’s confident that her death would be a swift one, a bullet in the back of the head.

That’s a depressing thought. Never mind.

It’s firmly out of her head when they jump into the worn, cracked seats. In fact, the only thing in her head right now is Elyza. Then again, she thinks, when the ignition is turned and the truck roars into life (much to the expletive-laced delight of the blonde) – that’s not surprising. She’s also the Californian has had exposure to these past few days. Still, she’s hesitant to break the easy silence that has settled, punctured only by the steady growl of the truck as they swing out of Nipomo and turn onto the dusty, desolate roads of California, and resume the goal they've been working towards for days.

It’s not surprising, either, that it’s Elyza who shatters the silence.

“Aw, _crap_ ,” the Australian moans, hitting her head once on the steering wheel. It makes a blaring sound as her head hits the horn, and the two girls jolt in unison. When Alicia turns to her, eyes wide with confusion, Elyza sighs. “We forgot the water. We’re gonna have to get the bottles somewhere else.”

Alicia hits her head on the side of the pickup truck’s interior. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Why can’t we just go back?”

“’Licia, we’re close to Santa Maria. It makes sense to just visit there for ten minutes. I promise, we’ll be fine.”

There’s a sort of finality to her tone that tells the brunette she shouldn’t argue – so she shuts up, thinking that’s the end of the conversation.

Right, so. Back to staring out of the window at boring, boring landscapes and wondering about the blonde for the hundredth time.

Until Elyza chuckles to herself. “Can’t believe I forgot the water.”

“Why did you?”

The Aussie glances at her and then looks away, before her eyes settle more firmly on the girl to her right. “I – got caught up in the fighting. And the swords. And the almost being killed. But hey, strong women who can fight are super hot. You did damn well there.”

She will not blush, she will not blush, she will not—

“You okay there, Triple B? Your face looks pretty red,” Elyza says, almost nonchalant. _Almost._ “I would give you some water to cool your face down, but I’m driving.”

“Shut up, Elyza,” Alicia scowls, rolling her eyes and moving her face to the window. There’s a pause in the conversation, so the brunette feels compelled to say something – anything. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I know. You told me.”

“I just wanted to let you know. Again. It scared me, too. It terrifies me,” she admits, in a whisper. It’s just loud enough for the Australian to hear. “I don’t want to do that again.”

“Hey, no. Don’t let that talent go to waste, Alicia. You can mess with any bitch who threatens you, and they won’t threaten you again,” Elyza grins. “That’ll make your parents realise you’re not a kid anymore, right?”

The brunette’s answer is a little scoff. Truthfully, she doesn’t ever know if Madison will ever see her as anything other than a child. _Her_ child. Apparently anything under her mom’s protection needs hiding from the world, and a berating when things don’t go perfectly.

(Look – her mom isn’t all that bad. Not really. The whole family thing could have gone _better_ , but… Alicia misses her. A lot.

God, she can’t wait to see her again.)

The blonde’s voice pulls her back to reality. “’Sides, it’s given me some fun memories to recount on my way to Mount Weather. That’s a privilege, you know.”

“You’re set on going to that place, aren’t you?”

(It’s not an interrogation, just a curious question. But something about her _own_ voice feels off and mentioning it feels weird, like she’s dipped her leg in that same pain again. Her next breath is a little shaky.)

Elyza shrugs, guiding the truck to the right onto a new turn. “It’s the best option, Triple B.  I get to find out if the American government actually do care about us, I get a nice little road trip, and no one else except maybe myself is in danger of dying.”

The truck is alive, thrums with absence and presence. Alicia’s head is turned to the other woman again, studying her, studying how smooth her facial expression is. There’s nothing giving her away, and that’s an expression in itself. There’s emotion in there that Elyza is trying to lock away.

Alicia can see right through her. And, really, she always has.

(Why is _she_ the one who charted every line of Elyza’s on her map? Why is she the one who just has to _know?_ )

“You could come with us, you know.”

Everything suddenly gets louder – the truck, the knocking of her knee against the panelling, the silence that’s draped around them. The Californian doesn’t like it – she can’t see a silence between them at this moment being any good.

She continues, “I’m sure Strand would have something to say about it, because he’s ansty like that – but it’s going to be different this time; you’re different. You saved me, so they’ll be in your debt. And it’s alright on the yacht, we’ve got a water filtra—”

“Alicia, it’s okay. I don’t wanna put any of you in danger. That’s what I seem to do, anyway, so… it’s best if I don’t.”

Alicia twists her body around to face the Aussie full on, allowing the other girl no way to escape her gaze. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, ‘Lyza. That’s crazy. It’s not _your_ fault that you’re in the zombie apocalypse. It’s not _your_ fault they went on a supply run. Their choices aren’t your own. Don’t make yourself believe they are,” she urges.

And she can see – Elyza appreciates the sentiment, she really does. But those eyes are still lavished in lovely cerulean melancholy. Alicia wonders how many lifetimes Elyza fits into one just to display that sort of depth.

“It’s not just that, okay? It’s… God, this is weird.” The blonde’s laughter is an exhalation full of _without_ , and the Californian aches for her. “Don’t laugh. I know I said I don’t believe in that soulmate and reincarnation shit – I remember – but sometimes it feels really real. My dreams, they feel real, and everything that happens just feels like a memory. It doesn’t matter who I’m meant to be – myself, this Clarke gal who keeps popping up, or the other people I’m supposed to be – but everyone just… suffers. Because I’m there. Everyone suffers because of me.” Her grip on the steering wheel is tighter now. “Why _wouldn’t_ I want to keep away from your yacht, if all I’m gonna do is bring you pain?”

Any words coming out of Alicia’s mouth are rushed now – she’s trying not to notice the panic rise up, trying not to notice how _relatable_ Elyza’s words are. She’s trying so hard and she just wants to focus on what she knows.

(They’re so relatable, all of them, despite the fact that Elyza is _so wrong_ about herself. She understands every word so keenly and she _shouldn’t_. What is even happening? Why is this happening?)

She closes her eyes as she breathes, “We’re not defenceless. We have guns. And a boat. We can stay alive.”

(She repeats it to herself like a mantra. Ignores everything else.)

“It doesn’t matter, ‘Licia. The badass girl is bad news for your crew.”

And – damn it, she wants to slam her hands on something, like the dashboard. What Elyza’s said isn’t a lie, but something – everything – in Alicia’s body is telling her that this is the furthest thing from the truth imaginable.

Her jaw clenches, unclenches, before the words leave her with a white hot heat. “You’re wrong, Elyza. You – you’re their strength.”

Those words, she knows, are the truth.

Elyza’s sky blue eyes are littered with stars, flecked with pain and fire and regret, regret, and the truth has never felt more needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down, man.  
> Also, over 4.8K views?????? What??? That's awesome, thank you so much! It really means a lot to me, so thank you for stopping by and sticking with this little idea of mine. You're all incredible!


	9. i confess, we're in a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peace of this journey holds danger, danger from its darker undertones and anxious questions. There are risks everywhere Alicia looks - and she is not the one who decides if she gets lucky or not. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! I'm so sorry about that. Exams caught up with me and I had awful writing block, so I had to put this on the back bench for a while. But I'm back! And hopefully it's enough to entertain you lovely readers. c:  
> Also, yes, this is a shorter chapter - but I wanted to get this out. I wanted to keep the gears working. I'll make up for it in chapter 10, I promise.
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Pray to God // Calvin Harris feat. HAIM.

She keeps yawning. It’s getting frustrating.

So, yeah, it’s hard to get to sleep when you feel like your dreams have been invaded by someone else’s life. But that’s no excuse for being this damn tired, even if it’s because of all this travelling. Her future hangs on a certainty, swaddled in what-ifs and unpredictable chances, and she needs to be prepared for any of the eventualities that are likely to arise from this trip.

The steady growl of Ark keeps lulling her into a sense of stability. Her eyelids droop without permission; she snaps her head up when it starts to fall on more than one occasion and scowls at herself for being so exhausted. Maybe if she concentrates on Elyza’s humming instead, she can keep her consciousness afloat.

The song’s all over the place, which means Elyza has to concentrate on her humming herself. But the sounds she makes are – well, they certainly give off an air of effortlessness. Alicia’s kind of jealous – she’s not too bad at singing herself, but there’s something about her friend’s voice that gives it an edge over everyone else’s.

…And she shouldn’t be thinking of the merits of the Aussie’s voice. Just concentrating on the voice itself. And keeping awake.

Right. So.

“You doing okay over there, ‘Licia?” the blonde asks her, just as the rock singer goes all-out and a scream/wail plays through the truck’s speakers.

The Californian’s head is bolt upright again. “Y-Yeah.”

“Bit tired?” Elyza’s back to speaking, then. The leather-clad lesbian went slightly pale at Alicia’s insistence of how _strong_ Elyza is, and decided not to speak for a bit.

Alicia harrumphs and folds her arms, eyes flickering from left to right as she watches the world go by. The cream and green-painted land isn’t exactly riveting; she yawns again and does her best to withhold it.

“Yeah, thought as much,” the Australian smirks, turning left onto a long stretch of road flanked by even more fields. She swings the wheel almost carelessly and the truck happily obliges, a pleased little rumble accompanying the motion.

(How did she get fortunate enough to find this car? And the house? Alicia’s jealous of her lucky nature.

Then she remembers why Elyza needed the truck in the first place, and she retracts that statement. The Aussie’s probably envious of the brunette’s luck in staying with her family.)

“You can go to sleep if you want, you know. You didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night,” the blonde informs her. At the other girl’s confusion as to how she found that information out, the Australian shrugs, “You paced around a bit; I heard. I don’t sleep easy either.”

Alicia just nods. “I don’t want to sleep,” is all she responds with, and she can’t find it in her to say anything more. It’s not necessary, or beneficial.

She regards the absence of words as an outsider looking in; in another state, on another plane of living entirely. She can count each second, put her finger on it and marvel at how it feels so empty and silent when the music blasting out of the truck should make it feel so full.

And that’s as good indication as any that something is off-balance here; not for one second has a moment been _empty_ on this unexpected journey she’s been forced to make. Not with Elyza right next to her. There’s usually something in the air that reminds her of the Australian – her presence, her voice floating through the house, how the air seems to vibrate with a sense of the girl, even when the blonde is nowhere in sight. But now, even though there is rock pouring through the speakers and crashing in Alicia’s ears unwarranted; even though the Aussie is sitting to Alicia’s left – there is something empty, something in the air that pulses out of time with the rest of the world.

(A heartbeat, maybe?)

No, she’s overthinking. Again. Why must she always do this? The Californian minutely shakes her head to herself and adjusts her position in the seat. She turns to watch Elyza driving, and sees Elyza looking at her. Suddenly, the vibrations are spilling back into the rhythm, and any of the fears the brunette had have dissipated.

“Tell you what,” Elyza beams, leaning back in her seat slightly – still not with her back framed by the seat, but less hunched around the wheel. “Tell you what. How about we play 20 Questions? It’ll get you thinking, keep you occupied. And I can learn all about my Beautiful, Bad-tempered Brunette friend while you learn all about yours truly, as a bonus.”

Somehow, the blonde manages to fulfil all the annoying straight boy stereotypes but makes them easy to deal with; they’re for the most part unwarranted, but there’s no real feeling of discomfort behind them, not like there would if it were anyone else. So Alicia rolls her eyes but accepts, because she can’t deny it’s a good idea.

“Do you want to go first?” she asks, her head rolling over to her side so she can look at her companion. Elyza meets her gaze and smiles, which the brunette can’t help but reciprocate. (At this point, it’s automatic. She’s not particularly satisfied with that discovery.)

“You’re going to have to be more specific, ‘Licia. Am I asking questions or answering them?” Of course, the Aussie’s choosing to be pedantic.

Alicia huffs half-heartedly. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it really.”

The Californian’s answering look – _no, I really don’t_ – makes the blonde laugh. And wow, Alicia does not need to get fixated on that sound right now.

(She feels like she could. Very easily.

It takes a surprising amount of resolve for her to focus her mind on the topic at hand.)

“You ask questions; I’ll answer,” she replies through an easily smile.

“Bonzer. This will be the best 20 Questions session of your life.”

That gets the brunette’s eyes rolling. (But at least they’re not drooping.)

True to her word, Elyza does her best to make the questions unusual, as the growling hum of the truck and the quietened rock music serve as the soundtrack to their nostalgic game. The questions are not uncomfortable, not pretentious, and not too difficult. A few of them make Alicia chuckle. And some are simply a little thought-provoking. Just a little bit of everything, not too much of one thing.

Until the tenth question.

“If you had the chance to relive one memory from your childhood, knowing all the things you know now, what would you choose?”

It’s an innocent enough question – the Aussie’s probably expecting her to talk about Disneyland or something equally as boring for the blonde – but the grumbling of the Ark fades to a whimper as Alicia chooses.

It’s not – okay, it’s not _overwhelmingly_ painful; she’d just rather not think about it, that’s all. But she does, because she has to tell Elyza.

It’s a memory of a day with her dad. The company he’d been working at had just closed down, so he’d been made redundant and was sitting around at home trying to get a new job. That had meant he’d been at home when Alicia and Nick got home from elementary and middle school; seizing the opportunity while he could, he’d use the time to take them out to the park and talk about their day with them before Mom came back from her placement.

The specific day she remembers is a day when it was sunny, but cold enough for her to wear her favourite jacket. School was about to finish for the year, and Alicia was feeling carefree, even though her parents were stressing about Dad not having a job. As a little treat – or maybe because he’d realise he wouldn’t be able to treat his kids as much as this for a while – the two kids were allowed to have an ice cream. At one point, Alicia’s ice cream got knocked onto the floor thanks to a couple of older kids skating past and knocking into her; Nick quickly gave her his own ice cream to make up for it. She still remembers, as clear as day, the way her dad had beamed at them both, floppy brown hair glinting copper in the brazen sunlight.

(He died in a car crash two weeks later.)

“A good dad, huh?”

The Australian’s voice brings her back to the present; with a blink, she’s dragged out of the past, the grief pressing down on her but not suffocating her like it used to do. Sunny walks in parks are replaced by sharp shapes of shadow and light roaming across the dashboard, but the near-constant noise of the truck turns into a caring whisper. She inhales deeply as she readjusts, takes in her present life. In the confusion between the two worlds – old and new, touching and united no longer, now always separate – Elyza’s voice grounds her. It’s enough that she manages to formulate a response only a second after she returns to the world.

“Yeah,” the Californian breathes. “Yeah, he was.”

She misses him. Not enough to cry, no. Not enough for it to dampen her mood for very long. She still misses him, though.

Maybe it’s better he’s not around to see the world he so loved go to shit.

She can’t say she can see total empathy in the fire of Elyza’s blue, blue eyes. That’s impossible; the Aussie’s dad wasn’t dead when the end of the world happened, was he? But Alicia knows the other girl misses him like hell, and they find common ground in that. Some common ground is better than no common ground at all.

Even so, when the blonde places a reassuring hand on her thigh before she squeezes it and lets go, it feels like there’s more than sympathy being conveyed there.

Alicia decides not to dwell on it, and moves the topic of conversation onto the next question. It reanimates the Australian; it’s like the melancholy memory was never mentioned, the way Elyza carries on as she was before. The brunette knows the other girl isn’t awkwardly making a point of not thinking about it, though, because there’s a clear concerted effort to make Alicia laugh on the blonde’s part, and it’s comforting. A little bit of normality, a little bit of weirdness.

When it’s the Californian’s turn to interrogate the leather-clad lesbian, she plays it safe. She’s not going to be digging up the past, definitely not; she asks the blonde questions about her favourite colour, or if she’s a forest or ocean kind of girl. Naturally and wholly innocuous questions, though the Aussie usually has a good (or, usually dangerous) memory attached to each answer.

Elyza’s favourite colour – green. (Alicia’s is blue.)

She prefers the forest over the sea. She got bored of cities, and bored of the ocean.

She hates crocodiles and believes they should be sent back to the prehistoric era, where they belong. Considering this is coming from a girl who finds spiders _cute_ – “when they’re not at risk of poisoning you, that is” – Alicia spends two minutes just gawping at her in shock. Humans are way less prepared to deal with crocodiles than they are spiders (she’s been ambushed by one too many in her lifetime), yet Elyza is scared of the animal she can easily run away from?

Idiot, the brunette thinks fondly.

Elyza’s left-handed but can write comfortably with both. (“I can do a lot of great things with my hands,” she smirks, and the brunette whacks her head on the side of the truck when she groans and lulls her head back with too much vigour.)

She prefers Ancient Greece to any other part of history, because, apparently, “They had some fucking wild mythology, mate. Also the Romans bloody _stole_ their gods, and originals are always better than covers.” The Australian then proceeds to demonstrate this last point by playing the Californian two different versions of the same song. Alicia doesn’t even know the song, so she doesn’t know which the original one is, and Elyza _pouts_ at her, actually _pouts_. The other girl would find it cute if the blonde hadn’t just forced her to listen to very similar songs she doesn’t really care for.

The blonde’s never been to Europe. She had family in Wales; she wishes she could go. (Alicia discovers she’s also abysmal at putting on accents; her Australian accent always comes through no matter how hard Elyza tries. Besides, it’s too jarring to the Californian to hear the Aussie speaking in anything _other_ than her native dialect.)

The brunette doesn’t get to finish quizzing Elyza, because Santa Maria is suddenly looming in front of them. The Aussie quietens down and turns off the stereo. For the last mile or so, there’s no talking, but the blonde gives her a few reassuring smiles to pass the time.

Alicia can’t think about much, not really, apart from how Santa Maria looks. It looks… _imposing_ , but inevitable. The buildings – battered, but not destroyed– are unavoidable, and draw her eyes to them out of fear and not through pity.

It’s funny; she should be curious about why Santa Maria hasn’t been razed to the ground like LA has (she can’t help but shudder at the memories of the chaos, the choking fear, the choking death, the burning, the _burning_ ). She should be curious as to why it looks as if it’s been preserved, maintained, in the fragile state it is. She should feel something other than dread, because all that means humans are surviving – that she won’t be counting down the days until humanity is finally eradicated; she won’t be marking her name as one of the last survivors of a dying breed.

She should, but she doesn’t. The inevitability of Santa Maria drills a form of fear in her heart and whittles away the substance of her breath when she exhales. She glances over to Elyza – and frowns at how calm the Australian looks. No, she’s not just calm… she’s eager. There’s that spark in her eyes, cerulean blue mixing with flashes of vivid anticipation, and Elyza is eager.

Alicia can’t figure this out.

Not at all.

She doesn’t like it.

The truck rolls into Santa Maria territory, and the brunette jumps when the truck stops suddenly. Elyza busies herself with checking her guns – she pats her sides for ammunition, makes sure her guns are primed but safe – and raises her eyebrows before unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door. The door doesn’t comply at first, only obeying when the Aussie kicks it open. Alicia is still unsettled, still gaping, when the blonde comes back and shoves her bags of extra weapons and food under her seat. Still crouched over, hands splayed on the cracked seat, the leather-clad Australian focuses her gaze once more on the other girl.

“You ready?”

The view in front of her – eyes alight, one eyebrow raised, too – prompts her into action. She scrambles to undo her belt and deftly opens the door to get out. Elyza’s there in an instant, gun in her hand, scratched glasses covering her eyes, cautious smile in place.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a store on the street here. They’ll have water there, I know. People don’t think to go into the small stores when a crisis occurs,” the blonde informs Alicia.

Alicia just nods. She takes the first step forwards to follow Elyza – and stops in her tracks. She stops, and her hands jump to reach for the sword on her back – because, goddammit, she can hear _people_. From the lack of groaning and moaning and general disgusting undead noises, they’re not walkers. Which, actually, doesn’t bring much relief.

The Aussie turns to face her; if it weren’t for the sunglasses, Alicia’s sure her eyes would be just as wide. She has no idea what to do and Elyza is just _staring_ at her. Not doing anything.

Elyza’s got _experience_ with this sort of stuff – isn’t she meant to take control?

The Californian swallows down her fear and clutches the end of her scabbard, as a precaution, while she moves to stand next to her companion. Elyza keeps the gun in her hand, and squares her stance.

When the people come into view, the brunette’s shocked to find them all healthy, somewhat well-fed, and fully clothed. Two of them are carrying big containers, maybe for water or fuel or food. They look to be… okay. Stable. And that makes the upcoming conversation much, _much_ easier, she supposes, but she knows what’s at stake here. Even these people can be resolutely stubborn. Then again, it’s the apocalypse; everyone has to be resolutely stubborn just to _survive_.

Right, surviving. That’s her goal right now. She swallows again and copies the other girl’s stance. She detaches her sword from its protective case, her blood singing as the sliding sound of metal against scabbard rings out behind her. It already feels like it was made for her hand, and she’s not been holding it for long. She brings it to her side, her grip strong but her palms sweaty.

The leader of the group – a man with a thin frame, his shirt ripped at the corner and stained with blood – flings a hand out once he sees the pair of girls standing there. All jovial conversation ceases immediately; every single one of the Santa Mari inhabitants narrows their eyes as they take in the sight of the two intruders.

Alicia’s eyes roam over everyone in the group. The leader – Caucasian, male, thin but probably strong-willed and smart. The woman next to him walks close to him; maybe they’re together? She’s got dark hair and beady eyes like a crow. The third person – a Latina, elegant build and a soft face. She looks to be the least dangerous of the crowd. The fourth, a medium-size black guy with long cornrows, fashioned into zig-zag patterns at the crown of his head. Behind him, the last person, a small white man, balding and gaunt. The bulky gun he has in his hand – the same one as all the others – looks too big. Out of place. He looks out of place, and he looks like he knows it.

He looks to be the weak spot of the group; if she got the gun away from him, she could take him down, easily. If it ever comes to that. (She hopes it won’t.)

The Californian’s eyes flicker over to Elyza; the Aussie’s stock still, her face not moving in the slightest. She guesses the blonde must be doing the same as her.

“Who are you?” the leader shouts at them as he slowly resumes his walk towards them. His gait is long, deliberate. Behind him, his group follow him.

 _Slap slap slap slap slap slap._ That’s all she can hear – their shoes on the asphalt, loud as bullet shots – as she waits for someone to speak, anyone.

“No one important,” Elyza responds, her voice cracking through the air like electricity. Alicia’s never been more grateful to be swaddled in a lightning bolt. “We’re not going to hurt you, I swear. We just wanna get some water and then get the hell outta here.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” the man responds. He scrutinises them carefully, before whispering something to his partner. She nods and scurries off, hugging her gun tightly to her chest.

“Why not? It’s the end of the world, mate,” Aussie grins. “No one’s going to care too much if we get some water bottles.”

“We will,” the remaining woman speaks up. Her voice carries through the air surprisingly well. “This is our territory. You must follow our rules.”

“You’re either going or staying,” the last man calls out, adding an unnecessary challenge with an eyebrow raise.

Alicia looks to Elyza, but those sunglasses aren’t giving anything away. She’s probably got the right idea – a poker face would be ideal in a situation like this. She schools her face, and adds her own input.

“How much water do you have? We don’t request much. If you give us some, we’ll be on our way and you’ll never have to see us again.”

The buildings around them – chaos, broken, screaming, barely holding themselves together – look down on the two girls as if pitying them. The brunette can feel it; their condescending height, chuckling at them. They are out of place. They do not belong here.

(Alicia looks to Elyza again. Somehow, she feels like she is alone in this feeling.)

“We can’t trust you,” the first man sighs, as if it’s obvious. “Who’s to say you won’t tell others of our settlement here? Clans are forming, the world is rebuilding. You’ve got to stick in numbers, or be killed. Or be killed in numbers, too.”

“Do we look like the sort of people to spill all your secrets? Relax, dude,” the Australian scoffs. “We’ve got no affiliations or anything with clans. We haven’t been around the big cities anyway, not for months.”

In truth, Alicia expected people to form little societies – but so quickly? And _clans?_ It makes her head spin. She’s glad she’s getting on the boat after this.

Her stomach drops. The _Abigail._ They’ve _got_ to find it soon, or it’ll be too late. She’s got to find her family again. And this – this is holding them back. It’s holding her back.

“They’re lying, we can’t trust them,” the last man accuses, the air whistling through his teeth as he hisses. His grip on his gun tightens. Automatically, Alicia raises her sword in response.

The African-American puts a placating hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “Jonas, leave it,” is his simple order.

The air between them is still tense. Nothing can be done to dissolve that now.

But Elyza still tries. “Would it help you if we told you exactly what our plans are? Would that make it easier for you to trust us?” As she speaks, she takes her glasses off, and rubs them on her padded chest. Her gaze is sincere, and there’s no malice behind those eyes. She’s doing all she can to persuade them.

“She’ll make it up,” Jonas growls. “If she’s not staying here and helping, we can’t trust her.”

“Give me a _chance_ first, shortstack,” Elyza snaps. Jonas growls; the first man tenses his shoulders. But the Aussie pays them no attention; she turns her head to the brunette. “Do you want to do the honours?”

Alicia responds with a look of sheer panic – _why_ is she telling strangers about this? – but the blonde’s gaze is steady, resolute. She has no choice but to comply. She dips her head in defeat and clears her throat. “We’re on our way to find the boat I was on. I was with my family, but – we got separated. Elyza found me, and took me in. But she’s taking me back to them.” Talking about it makes her irritation worse; she sighs. “We just want to get water and go, so we can wait for the boat and not die in the process.”

“Elyza?” the Latina woman murmurs, new understanding coming alight in her eyes – and once again, the Californian feels so, so lost about the situation at hand.

The Australian simply nods at her. “So, are we allowed to get water? We won’t be long. And we don’t have any reason to tell others. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Finally – _finally_ , thank God – the leader concedes defeat. He puts his gun back in his sling; the others except Jonas copy. “We can trust you. But you have to stay.”

Okay, now Alicia’s getting really pissed off with all the vagueness. “What do you mean _stay?_ For how long?”

Without hesitation, the leader’s deep brown eyes slice into her. “As in, you’ll become part of the clan. No one comes here without becoming part of the clan. If you leave, you’re not welcome, and we’re more than happy not to see your face again.” He cranes his neck around suddenly, in the same direction as the way his partner went, before his gaze returns to the two girls. “You can have water if you want to be a citizen of Santa Maria. We have houses, food and roles within the community. Mikel will assign you your roles personally.”

Elyza perks up at the mention of the Mikel person. Alicia frowns; she swears Elyza mentioned a Mikel before.

It doesn’t matter. They just need to _go_. Jesus Christ.

“You’re kidding, right? You can’t just stop people from leaving,” she scoffs.

“Yes, we can,” Jonas retorts. “Rhodes, she’s not complying. She’s not welcome here.”

The leader turns to Jonas – Rhodes, his name must be. Rhodes closes his eyes in exasperation, before responding, “ _Mikel_ will say whether she’s welcome here, not you.”

Jonas nearly _explodes._ “But she’s fucking with us! She shouldn’t be getting all… bitchy with us! She’s only a liability, okay? A prissy teenager who’s mad ‘cause she can’t get what she wants.”

Alicia snarls at the insult, the back of her neck heating up. From the street next to them, she can hear more voices.

“Hey, knock it off, mate,” Elyza warns. She brings her gun up closer to her chest. “You don’t get to talk shit about my friend, alright?”

“You can’t tell me what to do, convict,” Jonas retorts. His face is really hotting up now – he’s red and blotchy all over. Alicia’s disgusted.

She’s disgusted by this guy in general – the rage swirling in her stomach sort. What he has against the two girls, she’ll never know.

The voices get nearer.

The Australian takes two steps forward, both hands on her gun now. There is a sun that blazes hot in her eyes – an exploding sun, enraged and damn near murderous.

(Alicia may burn from exposure. It’s a good way to go.)

“Say that again, you jumped up bastard, and you’ll be regretting you got me cranky while I have this fucking gun in my hand,” the blonde snarls, voice low but loud.

And then – three things happen at once.

First – Rhodes moves to block Elyza from walking any further. He nearly knocks into her in his eagerness to protect Jonas.

Second – the people walking towards the group finally appear; it’s Rhodes’ partner, and a man about as tall as Rhodes. He has tanned skin and sharp, piercing eyes, and Alicia has a gut feeling that she doesn’t like this man – or the way Elyza’s attention turns onto him the second he comes into view.

And, third – seeing the cleared space between himself and the brunette visitor, Jonas takes his chance.

He shoots Alicia.

The force of the bullet knocks her back – she’s on the floor faster than she can anticipate it. Her elbows make a sharp _cracking_ on the tarmac, while the rest of her body lands heavily, but she doesn’t focus on that. She can’t focus on that – she can’t focus on her bruised elbows or her aching body – or her panicked breathing – _she can’t_ – her abdomen _fucking hurts_ and she feels like she’s dying.

She swears – oh, God – she swears she’s dying – she’s never felt pain like this before, not even when she’s broken a bone – her mind is in a mess and she is screaming to herself – and oh God, oh, fuck – she is dying and she’s not even near her family for the last time.

Tears spring out of her eyes in shock, and she glances down at her body to see the effects of the bullet. There’s a commotion up ahead of her – Elyza is currently screaming her head off at Jonas (she thinks she saw Jonas getting a whack on the head from the black guy) – but she doesn’t focus on that – she can’t focus on that – fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s _dying_.

Not to mention, she’s drowning in this unfamiliar familiarity feeling again. It’s like – back at the gas station, when she picked up that book – it’s like that, except ten times more intense – and the pain is so much more intense than when her leg got that phantom pain. For a second, her brain short-circuits – she swears she sees black blood pouring out from the bullet wound, seeping over her hand.

“’Licia! Alicia, fucking hell!” Elyza swears, suddenly right _there_ – Alicia is still sure she’s dying – and the Australian puts herself right in front of the brunette’s vision so she can focus on her – but she can’t focus, she can’t focus. “Alicia, did it get past your bulletproof vest?”

More people are crowding around her now – that Rhodes guy, and the new man, and the woman, not Rhodes’ partner – and she feels suffocated by all the attention – she just needs Elyza there – she needs Elyza to help. She sucks in a shaky breath and chokes out, “I don’t know.”

“She looks okay; she’s overreacting,” the new man informs them. “That stupid bullet didn’t penetrate anything. She needs to get up.”

He goes to prod her – but Elyza growls at him. “Don’t touch her!” – and he recoils immediately.

Alicia does her best to glare daggers at the man – what a dick, she’s confused and she feels like she’s dying – he could give her some slack, at least – and _ow,_ shit, that hurts still.

“Mikel, shut up, she’s clearly in a lot of bloody pain,” the Aussie retorts, as she eases the sword out of Alicia’s hand. Her attention turns to the Californian again –  her voice is softer now. “Okay, ‘Licia? We don’t think you’ve been hit. You’re probably just bruised on your stomach. That’s gonna really hurt, but at least you’re not shot, right?”

Alicia’s vision is definitely clearing now – she looks up at Elyza – ah, _fuck_ – and sees there are tears in the blonde’s eyes too – so the brunette smiles up at her to tell her she understands.

“Talk about laughing in the face of tropes,” Elyza murmurs – and Alicia chuckles again – then she winces in pain and moans – because God, that hurt. Elyza immediately goes serious – “Okay, no jokes, got it. Mikel, can we get her to a sofa or a bed? Like, _now?_ ”

Mikel jumps into action – as Jonas is dragged away by the man who slapped him, and Rhodes, Mikel asks whether there are any spare houses close to this street. The women left shake their heads, and Mikel frowns.

Fuck – it still hurts. The pain’s not receding – it still hurts and she can only focus on Elyza. She can’t focus on anything else except Elyza and she wonders – even now – what the hell’s happened to make her react like this.

“We’ll take her to my place,” Mikel notifies the blonde. “You two can stay there. I’ve got enough beds.”

“Thank you, Mikel,” Elyza replies – and the Californian can – God, why does it still hurt? – hear the gratitude pouring into the world. Again, the Australian turns her rapt attention to Alicia. “The pavement sure won’t be very comfortable, so I’m gonna haul you over to Mikel’s place now, okay?”

Breathing shallow – abdomen still _screaming_ at her – she can barely do more than nod in confirmation. She thinks she hears Mikel asking if he can help carry her from a way off – but Elyza replies in a gruff, “ _No_.” Then she feels herself being lifted – and the other girl’s somehow simultaneously strong and gentle as she carries Alicia wedding-style across the road of Santa Maria and into a house. It’s slow progress – of course it is – and every movement still hurts – God, it still feels like she’s dying even though she _knows_ she’s not dying – she can’t wait for this to be done – she’d give anything to _not be in pain anymore_ – and she whimpers once or twice. But it’s progress – Mikel watches her carefully as the brunette is carried across – and he promises her the comfort of his sofa before he lets the two girls in his house. He scurries off to get more lackeys – the two women have gone to resume the duties they can’t abandon – and he assures he’ll be back to get down to them so they can solve this. Then they are alone – Alicia feels much better for it – and she moans again when Elyza takes the step inside to the house.

“You okay, Triple B?” Elyza’s voice is soft – so soft – and the panic fades a little.

“It just really fucking hurts,” the brunette whispers.

“I know, sunshine, I know,” the Australian placates her – and places a kiss on her forehead – _oh_ – to bring the message home. It works – a little bit, but it’s significant – and she feels a little better.

The other girl’s legs are wobbling as she lays Alicia down on the sofa – and God, it’s so nice – but Alicia doesn’t have it in her to say sorry – because the aching pain carving up her insides is not going away and Elyza looks so terrified. She goes for the next best thing – because she needs some comfort – the unfamiliar familiarity begs her to look for comfort – and she reaches out for her friend’s hand.

The blonde takes it eagerly – and, God, everything hurts – but everything hurts a little less with Elyza here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear: ALICIA'S NOT DYING.
> 
> Alright, I know there are similarities here between Wayhaught and Alicia's current state of being. But, I assure you, I had this planned waaaaay before I even started watching Wynonna Earp. (Which needs to be renewed immediately, let's be serious.) Damn it, Nicole, you beat Alicia to it! So if you want to critique me on that, I'll tell you now - I wasn't inspired by WE; we just had the same idea!
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria


	10. an unusual housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alicia hurts, she hurts so badly. She's never felt this much pain in her life. On top of that, she's feeling bitter and betrayed. And she can't wait to escape it all - the pain, the confusion, the house she's trapped in.  
> But there's more for her to discover first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from Italy - which was lovely, and absolutely boiling - and back with a new chapter. Exciting things are about to happen, lovely readers.
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Room to Breathe // You Me At Six.
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria

She doesn’t know much of what’s going on, but she knows everything still fucking hurts.

And – well, she’s still on the sofa at Mikel’s place. Her body still aches, but she’s getting used to it now. (Doesn’t mean it doesn’t make her want to scream or cry. But she’s already crying from it.) Also, she’s sure it’s Elyza who sits next to the sofa, in a plush but battered sofa chair.

She doesn’t think Elyza has actually moved from that position. Not even overnight – they’ve been here since yesterday and neither of them have really moved.

Oh, no – Alicia lies. She has a fuzzy memory of Elyza fetching a blanket for her. She has a fuzzy memory of Elyza undoing her bullet proof vest for her and pushing her top up to see if there’s been any serious physical damage to the body part affected. (The answer: just bruising. No bullet holes, no black blood. Just bruising.) She remembers feeling exposed, her body bared for the Australian and Mikel to peer at. She’s not prude, no – but when she’s half out of her mind with psychological pain (pain she knows shouldn’t even _exist_ ), she’d like to have a little more privacy. She knows she wasn’t fully present, but _still_. She’d rather not have some guy she doesn’t know inspecting her body like he did.

Some guy, she’s discovered, that knows Elyza very well.

It’s the Mikel Elyza mentioned before. Mikel who likes the army, Mikel who suggested the blonde go to Mount Weather. It’s the Mikel who thinks he has every right to trap every visitor inside Santa Maria, regardless of the consequences. It’s because of _him_ that Alicia can’t see her family now (at least not today), all because Elyza was friendly with him.

She lies – she knows what’s going on, most of it. It’s been coming to her, piece by piece.

She’s pissed off at both of them. Seriously pissed off. If she wasn’t confined to this stupid stupid sofa – she can’t walk yet, with all this pain – she’d be more than happy to let them know.

Oh, she’s already voiced her displeasure, _definitely_. The glares she’s been giving Elyza, and the downright ignoring of Mikel’s existence she’s been doing in between check-ups and fitful naps – they let the two buddies know that she’s not satisfied with the situation. Even when she’d entered a small state of delirium, she let them know with half-formed snarls and unfocused death stares. Now, she grudgingly accepts Elyza’s offerings of food and water and takes her sweet time eating them. (They make her head spin, but it’s _actual food and water in the middle of the end of the world_ , of _course_ she’s going to accept them.) And when she’s finished, she turns away from them, despite the pain it causes her.

(She’s surprised her tear ducts haven’t dried up yet.)

So. If the Aussie’s hands find hers more often than not, then it’s because she needs _some_ comfort through this hellish situation. She needs _something_ to tell her that she’ll get through this – or, at least, that she doesn’t have to suffer through it alone.

She’d finally finished being fuzzy-headed and mumbling incoherent sentences in the night, when she woke up with a start. She woke up with death on her mind – not her death, other people’s deaths, _children’s_ deaths by her forced hand – and gasped herself into fully-conscious consciousness with the words, “ _Ai laik Heda_ ,” tumbling from her lips. Elyza, who hadn’t yet slept, was by her side in an instant.

She’d asked if Alicia was okay, if she needed anything. The brunette had mumbled a reply of, “Go be with Mikel,” and promptly turned over, where she’d stayed put and tried her ignore her body’s normal call of sleep.

(She no longer welcomes sleep. Or closing her eyes, for that matter.)

Elyza had apologised – for maybe the twentieth time – and had started murmuring, murmuring nonsense about Ark or something. The soft words had lulled her into another uneasy sleep, even though Alicia still felt like she was dying and was still unwilling to admit that Elyza was helping, in any way, shape or form.

She still _does_ feel like she’s dying. When she closes her eyes, it’s like she can feel her organs shutting down; her limbs start to feel numb and the panic rises again. And the thoughts – oh, the _thoughts_ – thoughts gasping to be free, thoughts that don’t belong to her with their feeling of new-found desperation to live, just this once. Like whoever had had these thoughts had never wanted to live more than they had when they’d died.

The thoughts haunt her the most. The despair, the hidden panic, the refined pragmatism. They are the thoughts of someone who did not want to die – not when they’d found this new embrace, this spark of passion in an overly disciplined life – but had found reason even in dying.

_She will be safe. She must be safe. I will see her again, and she will be safe._

These are the thoughts of a dying person, and these are not Alicia’s thoughts. Because she is pretty sure she’s not going to die any time soon.

(Well, she hopes so, anyway. It’s kind of hard to be sure about your life when you’re living amongst the walking dead. Having someone else’s thoughts in your own head while your body falsely tells you that you’re dying also really doesn’t help things either.)

She opens her eyes with those thoughts on the tip of her tongue, always. And it confuses her, it really does – why is she suddenly being inhabited by a dying person? And why is she so certain about this, this incomprehensible fact? It’s like something out of the Paranormal Activity films, except less horrifying and just very, very sad.

Whoever they were, she aches for them.

Then she sees Elyza flipping through her art book, a cautious eye on the brunette, and she just gets pissed off again.

At the moment, the other girl is intensely focused on her artwork; she’s not concentrating on Alicia at all. The Californian, somehow propped up on one elbow (it’s a miracle her arms aren’t buckling out of weakness), knows this won’t last; Elyza experiences short bursts of concentration before her concern for the brunette wins over and she looks up again at the ailing Californian. Alicia has a window of about a minute before she needs to turn over to purposely ignore the blonde again.

( _Yes_ , she’s feeling petty. Right now, it’s the only thing she _can_ feel, aside from that frustrating ‘familiar unfamiliarity’ feeling and the sting of a completely non-existent and almost all-absorbing bullet wound. She’s allowed to feel angry about this, okay?)

She regards the Australian with a frown on her face. What she doesn’t get, more than anything, is why Elyza didn’t just _tell her_. Alicia doesn’t bite; she wouldn’t have cared about Elyza wanting to see her friend, not really. Sure, she _might_ have had a one-track mind a little bit – but how was she to know that she should’ve toned it down a bit? She _would_ have, if the Aussie had just told her.

Why _didn’t_ Elyza tell her? Did she not trust Alicia enough? Is that what it was? She feels wounded by that prospect – it seemed like the blonde _did_ trust her, when she told the brunette about her family, her art, her loneliness. She wants the Australian to trust her. Alicia trusts her – why won’t that be reciprocated?

It’s strange – she didn’t trust her at first. The blonde annoyed her endlessly with her stupid pick-up lines and arrogance. But that melted away, pushed back by an inevitability that seems to be far bigger than the both of them. Elyza’s pick-up lines still _are_ stupid – but there’s more to her than what the Californian originally saw. The arrogance is a barrier, a wall of confidence that hides the truth: Elyza is a fish out of water here, away from her past and still drawn to it.

(Alicia can’t shake off the feeling that the Aussie’s always going to be like that – always a stranger to her surroundings, no matter what her connections to it may be. She doesn’t know how she knows that, or how she knows that that will change, but she just does.

A lot of things about Elyza, the little things, she just seems to know.)

Somewhere between the Aussie’s promise to help the brunette, and the first morning at the ranch-style house, Alicia realise the blonde wasn’t really the insufferable woman she’d thought Elyza was. She found that every second spent with Elyza, she was getting a little closer to the truth, the truth of this enigmatic and energetic Australian.

Yet it turns out she’d concealed this. Something that had put a massive dent in the works. And now the likelihood of Alicia ever seeing her family again has almost certainly gone down to zero.

She can’t escape this place, but she has to hold onto the hope that she can, so she can hold onto the hope that her family are still waiting for her. That Nick will find the boat before she does.

She’s finding there’s less and less predictability around her – less and less _truth_ – and it scares her.

She’s thankful that minds are quiet when lips are closed – Elyza doesn’t know what she’s thinking right now as her minute finally slips past. The blonde’s frown starts to deepen, and a soft but displeased little harrumph escapes her lips and hangs in the space between them. It takes a few more seconds for the Aussie to heave a sigh and release her grip on her pencil, dropping it onto her legs behind the art book. When she starts to stretch – weariness sewn into every inch of movement, muscles straining against a lack of sleep and a lack of sympathy – Alicia knows to look away. Her gaze transfers to the television to the right of Elyza’s chair, and her elbow folds beneath her, all in the half-second before the other girl’s eyes find her face.

She’s thankful that minds are quiet when lips are closed – all Elyza can see are the free-falling tears and the pain etched on all her features. All Elyza can see is how she winces when she moves; she hears the quiet hiss slipping from between the brunette’s teeth. All Elyza sees is all that Alicia _wants_ her to see – the physical side to her pain.

She doesn’t trust the blonde enough to show her the rest. Not anymore.

(For God’s sake, all this time she’d been thinking that the Australian was _different_.

A part of her cries out that she _is_. That, _God_ , she overwhelmingly is. She knows she is hiding from that part of her.)

“’Licia?” the blonde croaks. She coughs – her voice hasn’t been used very much except to apologise and to coax Alicia to sleep, and the last time that happened was a while ago. The cough seems to do the trick, though it’s too loud for the Californian to cope with.

Alicia stiffens.

 “You feeling any better, hun?”

Alicia turns over, head facing forward so she’s not facing the Astralian and peering down the length of the sofa instead. Every movement stings and she does her best not to cry out; fresh tears spring to her eyes regardless.

The frown on the blonde beauty’s face becomes deeper.

She doesn’t need to see the Aussie’s face to know what it looks like. The mental image leads the other girl to think that Elyza looks older with a frown carved into her features – like there’s some ancient or future sadness that Alicia isn’t aware of. But then she shakes her head to herself and looks away again.

She’s not supposed to care about that. She’s meant to be angry at the blonde, and not want to look at her. Not want to be near her.

(She can’t lie to herself. No matter how much Alicia wants to glare at her until Elyza pisses off out of the room, there’s still something within her that clings to her presence. It feels well established; maybe it existed before Alicia knew Elyza did.)

She closes her eyes, and the tears fall down. The numbness starts, and her heart thuds. Her breathing gets shallower.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Australian coos. The art book and pencil are placed on the coffee table in an instant; Elyza’s hand darts out to capture the Californian’s. “You’re here. You’re alive. You’re okay.”

But she’s _not_ okay – that’s the point. The brunette’s eyes open, harden, and she pulls her hand away from her companion’s. As she tilts her body into the back of the sofa, she utters a pained, “Go be – with your boyfriend – Elyza.”

(She doesn’t want that comfort right now.

She does. She totally does. But she’s stubborn, okay?)

Elyza grimaces, “Ew, no. You know I’m gay, ‘Licia.” Her hand stays on the sofa, just not on Alicia. Good. It can stay there. “I don’t – he’s not – that much of a big deal anyway.”

The Californian rolls her eyes. “Stop – lying, Elyza.”

Everything still fucking hurts.

She hears the irritated sigh being expelled from the Aussie, but she knows the other girl won’t snap at her. Neither of them have it in them to start an argument like that.

“He wasn’t a big deal before the apocalypse happened, sure. But he… he’s the only survivor from my group. He’s _something_ , even if he’s not much,” Elyza starts to explain.

The Californian turns over, suddenly panicked. ( _Fuck_ , that was a bad decision – that hurt so much.) She feels her heart plunge down to her stomach; she fears she may have misjudged Elyza’s affection towards him – what if this is the first time she’s seen him after thinking he was dead—

“I’d planned to go see him before I even saw you,” the blonde carries on – and Alicia’s heart returns to its normal place in her body. She’s glad she doesn’t have to feel guilty about that; she can continue being pissed off.

The Australian rakes her free hand through her blonde hair before she continues. “He knew about the house I’d just started living in. He’s told me one of his people with saw me on my way toward it, followed me a good while until I got there. Then Mikel went to the house himself, but I was out – on a supply run, probably – so he just left a note. It didn’t say much, just told me that he was alive and that I could find him in Santa Maria. When I found it, I – I don’t know what I did, but I was so relieved. He was my dad’s next-door neighbour. I knew him. I wasn’t alone anymore. But I didn’t have enough resources to get there, not without difficulty.”

Alicia just listens impassively. Something in the air has changed, now. This deserves her attention, at least.

(In truth, she was always going to listen.)

“That’s what I was in that superstore for. Where you found me. You –” Elyza chuckles lightly; the brunette turns her head to look at the Australian, finally “- you came along, you crashed into my world, ‘Licia, and turned everything upside down. But when you stated your plans, I figured it wouldn’t take long to get you back to your family. I could even go to Santa Maria on the way, meet Mikel again and tell him about my plans. Tell him that I’d be back, after I’d helped you out to get you where you needed to be. He’d waited for me enough; he could wait just a while longer. Then we could go to Mount Weather together.”

The gentle smile becomes restrained, but those blue eyes seem to be on fire. “Well, things didn’t go to plan, did they? I didn’t factor in some things. One: I didn’t know that Mikel would take to a leader role here. Guess his military brain kicked in. And two: you’re very hard to let go of, Alicia. And I don’t think I wanna do that, either.”

Alicia swallows hard, the only sound between them in this moment.

Those eyes are on her again. It’s like when Elyza first confronted Alicia, outside the superstore. But it’s another sort of intense. This isn’t a command; it’s a proclamation.

“I made a promise to you, ‘Licia, and I’m gonna go through with it. I’m not leaving you here. I’m not leaving you. You deserve to see your family,” the blonde states. Then she looks away; grimaces. “What should’ve been my new family just wants to trap us in here. Neither of us deserve that.”

And Alicia doesn’t know what to say.

The blonde has just admitted some of the truth to her – and she doesn’t know what to say.

She doesn’t know if she even _wants_ to say anything.

She closes her eyes, an instinctive reaction to get her to concentrate – but the panic starts up again, and the familiar unfamiliarity rears its unwelcome head even more, so she opens her eyes and takes in a discreet gasp. She can feel the buzz of energy in the air (tense energy, full of unknown words they don’t know need to be said) expelled by the admission, can see Elyza’s knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. And she knows something needs to be said.

But that wasn’t a sorry, and this isn’t an opportunity for forgiveness.

So the Californian mumbles a quick, “Your war paint’s smudged,” and turns over again, forehead resting against the soft, smooth material of the sofa.

Elyza exhales but nods, patting the sofa twice before standing up. “I’ll fix that, hang on a second,” she announces quietly, and leaves the living room to the ailing brunette.

Now it’s just Alicia, her thoughts, and the empty living room to occupy her mind.

Right, as if that’d happen.

She twists her body again and, out of boredom, casts her eyes over the objects inside the room – the uninspiring eggshell blue wallpaper, the sharp-edged, mediocre fireplace, the sailor blue-striped chairs accompanying the sofa, the shoddy television – and nothing comes to mind, nothing. Nothing she can think about apart from her faux-wound and her awful luck.

(It’s technically not a faux-wound – there is something there, bruising that does actually hurt a lot – but most of it is in her head; despite _knowing_ most of it is in her head, she _can’t_ stop feeling it. It annoys her to no end.)

She sighs. Mikel should’ve chosen a better place. Something more interesting; literally anywhere else. Then again, this is probably the most complete house she’s seen in Santa Maria. Every town and city she’s been in so far seems to be pulling off the ‘destroyed chic’ look. Most of the houses are missing their contents, or display ruined furniture and walls blackened with fire through their crumbling foundations. This street – further out in Santa Maria, away from the main fires, further away from LA – flaunts its houses, near complete and complete as they are.

It’s no surprise, then, that it’s teeming with battered but enduring life. She can hear them outside; residents of Santa Maria pour out onto the street, preoccupied with their individual roles to keep the place going. She’s been told by Elyza – unwillingly, obviously, because she really doesn’t care for the people here – that they fetch water, repair buildings, hunt any animals they can find, and guard the borders. And they do more, apparently, but the brunette either didn’t hear what the Aussie told her next or was too out of it to digest the information.

Either way, she doesn’t care. She can’t wait to get out of this place.

She sees them all as strangers, as threats. Mikel is definitely _other_ , not to be trusted. The residents won’t care for her, and she doesn’t care for them, so it’s not likely she’s going to be treated amicably – especially now she’s created all this pandemonium over what seems to be _nothing_. And Elyza… in the Californian’s head, her position is blurry; she flits from Alicia’s side to Mikel’s side in every moment, and returns when Alicia sees her in the flesh again.

Alicia can’t pinpoint what the blonde is to her anymore. She can’t pinpoint what she feels about her – it’s a confusing concoction of anger, ignorance, knowledge, empathy and longing.

(And something deeper. Always something deeper.

It escapes her, when she tries to grasp it. No amount of determination will let her know, but that feeling that haunts her – when she was with the knives, when she hurt her leg, when she read the sci-fi book – tells her she’ll know, she’ll discover it.)

She can’t pinpoint where the blonde is with her, anyway, because the Australian is _everywhere_. She’s everywhere the brunette is; she’s what Alicia sees whether she likes it or not. She’s the person the Californian wakes up expecting to see, anticipating her presence despite everything, and the person that clings her to consciousness. She’s the reason Alicia is in the place she is – not dead (but sure feeling like it), still breathing and moving from her own volition, still a human in this inhumane world.

All through a well-aimed bullet and a few smirks.

(She wonders how she got so lucky and so unlucky, all at once.)

Alicia’s eyes are drooping. But she doesn’t want to sleep.

When the brunette does get sleep, she has to suffer through the panic of dying first – not enough to prevent her from falling asleep, no, but enough to make her miserable. The despair, the hopelessness of death, the hopefulness of a future to come ( _We will meet again, and she will be safe_ ) – they infect her like a plague, make their way inside her body and latch onto her bones without force and without permission. She has no control; she can only let it happen. Like a sufferer waiting for her death date, simultaneously long awaited and all too soon.

She is not herself in these moments. And she thinks, especially at a time of such distress, she _would_ like to be herself, thank you very much.

So, no, no sleep. She doesn’t want to sleep.

But it starts taking her anyway. Her body is racked with fatigue; her mouth is dry from all the panting she does, and her eyes sting with the salt from her tears. Her limbs tremble and her head is heavy. She feels like she hasn’t washed in months, and her clothes only make her too hot. She is so uncomfortable – so _fucking_ uncomfortable – and, pragmatically, the only thing that will help her is sleep.

Her body starts shutting down – not in the way her mind’s tricking her to think she is, obviously, but shutting down to sleep – and it gets harder and harder to focus on the world around her. Instead, her senses come alive with her own impending doom. Numb fingers, numb legs, a heart thumping slowly and squeezing in on itself. Her head lolls about slightly as she struggles fruitlessly against the feeling; her world blurs and fades out like a transitional movie scene, flickering a few times.

She only vaguely registers the Australian returning to the living room. She half-watches as the blonde sits down, gauges Alicia’s current state – almost senseless, sadness displayed fully on her features as she slips into sleep – and starts to speak, softly.

(Elyza’s war paint has been fixed. But her mind does not supply the right name for the person in front of her. It begins with a _C_ ; that’s all she can determine. But it’s not Elyza, and she’s given nothing more.)

“Sleep, sweetheart,” and there’s no remorse, no bitterness, no power. Just comfort. Just encouragement. It’s what Alicia needs, even if she doesn’t like that fact. “I’m gonna find my truck, but I’ll be right back, yeah? I’ll be here if you need me.”

The Aussie strokes her head comfortingly and slips out of the house, but the other girl is too far gone by that time.

And she dreams. No – she relives.

In this state of not being herself, she recognises that she simply can’t call this a dream anymore. It is anything _but_ her typical dreams – she is alive in them, she is above everything. Everything is rich and feverishly vivid; everything speaks to her and taunts her. She knows this is _real_ – at least to someone – and it is not Alicia who originally experienced this. It is alive, so alive despite everything, and Alicia is a helpless bystander as it pulls her down and chains her to the events unfolding beneath her eyes.

Everything moves so quickly, spurred on by her someone else’s astute brain. There are a thousand different varieties of stimuli barraging her senses, all at once: her nose prickles with cooking spices as she walks amidst a hectic commoners’ market – people shout at her from all directions, children wail and laugh and their feet slap hurriedly on the ancient, cracked concrete beneath their feet. Her eyes take in dazzling colours – coriander orange, gingers and marigold hues, the juicy greens of apples and blood-red berries. She is given flowers by doting subjects, blocking her path, crowing at their _Heda! Heda!_ Children supported in their carers’ arms play with her pecan brown braids as she brushes by, their stubby, muddied fingers falling onto her shoulder plates, her scarlet sash. Metal clinks as she walks, dressed up in her soldier finery as she is; her toned stomach is shielded by chain mail and metal plates, and her umber boots keep her warm as the breeze brings the first chill of fall.

But everything is misshapen. Nothing is permanent; the people are fleeting, warped and faded at their edges, and Alicia can’t focus as much as _Heda_ does. The views before her tilt and spin as soon as _Heda_ turns her head even the slightest bit – and she can’t focus. She _feels_ , she _sees_ , she _smells_ , she _hears_ ; but she doesn’t and _can’t_ concentrate on any one thing.

The only thing she _can_ concentrate on is the despairing feeling in her gut – that this is only to end in misery.

There is so much to see; so much to do, to _be_. But she is _Heda_ first and foremost, and she has a duty to serve these people who look on at her so reverently.

The scene changes – once, twice: a war room lit by an extortionate amount of soothing, flickering candles becomes a bathroom, the beautiful ebony basin taking precedence in the middle of the tiled area as she takes this atypical moment to relax. It changes more and more often – she finds herself placed in the midst of battle over three times, scattered in the countless number of scenes rapidly shifting before her – and the speed increases as she steadily gets more and more bewildered by each turn of events.

Helplessly, Alicia looks on as the life of _Heda_ plays out intermittently before her eyes.

A battle – a death – a ceremony – a visit – the icy plains of the north – summer days spent training little ones.

A funeral – a rage, a burning rage – a suppression – a detachment – an offering of peace – a tentative alliance – an underlying tension.

A shock – an inevitability – a spacecraft – a stranger – a sacrifice – a blossoming – a love – a cruel way out – a cruel decision.

 (Her head hurts; her heart hurts.)

A duty – a duty to others – a duty to others, always before herself – a weakness – a mission – a deal – a promise.

 (She doesn’t know what’s happening – all of this is being thrown at her in blurs and misshapen words, without the information she needs.)

Perseverance – hope – reconstruction – trust – acceptance – relief – love.

And then – death.

Horrible, horrible, _wretched_ death. There are tears everywhere and the pain is back – _oh_ , that damn pain – but it’s magnified now. She wants to scream, to plead, to beg to anything, _anyone_ , to just let this woman live. Let her live. For the love of life, _let her live._

Hands ghost over _Heda’s_ , blurry and misshapen in this dream-like state. Trembling hands, like hers do as the energy drains from her body. There’s a pleading voice above her, and although she can’t make out the words, she can acutely recognise how the voice cracks with grief and desperation.

And she feels it too. All of it. She can’t _stop_ feeling it – she will never not feel it – and it rips her out from the inside as much as the pain does.

A chant, and then words are spoken between them, words of love too late.

And then – and then she is hauled into the present – eyes fly open, words rush from her lips – “My fight is over” – and she gasps as if she were a fish out of water. When she collapses onto the sofa again after her panicked surge forward, she is suddenly Alicia again, and Alicia only.

The living room comes into view; boring eggshell blue, the plush sofa, the blonde back from her excursion.

Hands find hers again – that same comfort, that same struggle, that same hope – and she clutches them tightly, holding on for dear life. They don’t let go – they wrap around her securely, kissing strength into her skin – and they steady her as she trembles, shuddering as she gulps lungfuls of air.

“Alicia,” Elyza softly croons, as the Californian starts to calm down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

There’s nothing that she wants to say; there’s no rebuttal forming in her throat, no anger coursing through her veins. Overwhelmingly, she is _exhausted_ , she is suffering, and there is nothing she has in this world apart from the blonde.

So instead of shutting down, instead of pushing the Aussie away – she just falls apart. The sob that rises from within her is sudden, sharp, and it rips through her body when she cries.

Alicia just collapses into Elyza, and Elyza lets her.

She doesn’t move, not at all. She lets the familiar smell of cracked leather and dark chocolate envelope her as her mind does somersaults trying to take in everything she’s just seen. Everything still aches, always – but this has added a new dimension to it entirely, a new ache that settles on a plane not in the physical world. It’s like – it’s an ache in her _soul_ , and she wishes more than anything that she didn’t have to bear this.

She wishes that this didn’t exist. She wishes that she could _explain_ why this is happening, and why it hurts so much. She wishes she knew the truth – about what’s happening around her, all of it – but she knows little compared to what she _could_ know. She’s only given soundbites, fed with morsels while she shudders with starvation, and it is never enough. It is never enough.

It terrifies her.

It fucking terrifies her.

The Aussie offers her a simple way out – a distraction. She talks. The gravelly, subdued tone of her voice provides water to her parched being; Alicia gears all her strength towards listening to the words in that delectable drawl she’d come to trust so much.

“Let me tell you some stuff, okay? It’s not exciting, but it’s something,” she soothes. “I can’t find Ark, which is… a bit shit, but the residents seem to be talking about us. The nice ones want you to get better; Mikel’s been talking, telling others about the “two badass girls with sharp swords and sharp tongues”. A gal called Lyndsey said that. It’s nice some of them care, right? Better than shooting at us, sure.”

The blonde goes on to tell the Californian about some of the people there, how they’ve been received. Jonas has been publicly shunned – he glares at everyone as he collects water. (It’s a demotion, apparently, something the newcomers are assigned to when they help out for the first time.) Earlier, he’d shouted at Elyza on her way to find her truck. She’d had none of it, especially when he’d come for her. Snickering lightly, the Aussie gloats about slapping him across the head, his second slap in two days, which makes the other girl chuckle, despite herself.

(It’s… nice. Normal, even. It takes the edge off things.)

By now, her breathing has returned to its current level of normality. She’s coming back to full consciousness, and with it, she regains a sense of herself. It takes her a few more minutes to unlatch from the blonde, but she manages it. Elyza, too, lets go; the Aussie gives her the space she needs again, extracting her hands from the warm entanglement but keeping her presence close, just in case. Her star-blue eyes examine her, a once-over that delves into the Californian, but without opposition.

Alicia is too drained to really object. Not only that, but the blonde’s embrace did more good for her than she expected.

Oh, the brunette’s not forgiven her, no. Now is just not the time to open that can of worms again.

Then the Australian’s eyes flicker warily to the front door; she keeps her gaze trained on the entrance as she speaks suddenly. “I don’t know where the Ark is, which means I don’t know if people know about all my guns and shit. If they do, that’s gonna give us a huge disadvantage. But we can still get outta here. It’ll just be harder. And we’ll have less to protect ourselves with when we’re out on the road. But I’ll ask Mikel what he’s done with the truck. Maybe he doesn’t know about the guns yet.”

The brunette just nods, not strong enough to conceal the pain that accompanies the movement and not ashamed enough to want to. Despite being asleep for… well, she doesn’t actually know how long she slept – she’s still aching and sore and it feels like her muscles will never stop complaining of fatigue.

A moment of hesitation, and Elyza glances at her again, a question in those blue, piercing eyes. “You’ve still got your sword under the sofa, haven’t you? No one’s taken it away from you, right?”

The Californian doesn’t know. She cares, sure (she’s very attached to that sword already, and she’s not afraid to say it), but considering it’s been too agonising to even move her body for most of the time she’s spent here, she’s definitely not in a position to check. And why would she know if someone’s taken it, if she was half out of her mind for most of the day?

She gives the other girl an _Are you serious?_ look, because, _honestly_.

The Australian grimaces at her lapse of judgement, and suddenly darts down to the floor to check whether it’s still there. Sheathed, protected, hidden away; Elyza didn’t want Mikel to have any control over their weapons, so only moved to relieve Alicia of it when everyone else in the room had flitted away, eager to get back to their duties and uncomfortable in the presence of such tension. How she’d managed to get the brunette to sit up, Alicia doesn’t know – and, doesn’t remember, seeing as all she remembers from the earlier hours are pain, despair and more pain – but the blonde had managed to unhook the sword from around her body and had placed it quietly on the floor, on the space under the sofa. Elyza reminded her later that she’d had her finger on her lip and had looked at the Californian while she did it. To get the point across, she guesses.

Whatever. Alicia’s not planning to give Mikel any more advantages over her. She’s not stupid.

An affirming hum from the blonde tells the other girl that it’s still hidden away. Thank God. The new weight that settled on her shoulders lifts. Elyza jumps back up and places herself in her chair again, seemingly breathing a little easier too.

The brunette’s eyes scan the Aussie detachedly. Even with the leather jacket on, she can still see – or, still _know_ – that Elyza’s shoulders are rigid, tense. Her leg has taken to bouncing once more. The easiness of the blonde’s expression, something the Californian is so used to seeing, has disappeared, replaced by a modest furrowing of her brow. Her bottom lip is ruby red and flushed; she’s nibbled at the right side of her lip and torn into it.

Alicia looks away. She should not be looking at that.

The air vibrates around them in those few hushed seconds. There is so much between them, so much more to know and to tell and discover, and Alicia doesn’t know how to reach it all. For all her anger directed at the Australian right now, it seems to be the only inevitable thing in her life.

Elyza is inevitable. Her everything is inevitable. Alicia has no choice; she’s being pulled into it, whether she wants to be or not.

Then – an interruption: the front door flies open with a sharp, loud _bang_ , and multiple pairs of feet make themselves known. The brunette doesn’t turn to look, just listens; one pair stomp loudly, another pair is graceful, and the last is hesitant. Her whole being sighs with exasperation.

More people. Fucking great. Her next check-up is due, it seems.

(In front of her, the blonde straightens her back and schools her features into stoicism. The Californian can see the muted glare in her eyes, however.)

“Elyza, Alicia,” Mikel greets, nodding his head curtly as he comes into view. He stands tall, unbroken, like a brick wall. He has the emotional range of one, too.

She doesn’t want him anywhere near her. She probably would’ve thought of him as attractive and helpful, in a rugged sort of way, if he hadn’t managed to completely fuck up her plans. Now, everything about him just irritates her beyond belief. Even the things that would make most straight or bi girls swoon – he drags a hand through the tufty, black hair atop his head and rasps a few words to the Latina woman accompanying him – make her want to punch him. Or at least insult him.

She settles with staring daggers at him with her eyes.

“Alicia, this is Lyndsey. Elyza, you’ve already met her,” he informs the two girls gruffly. His motion towards the mentioned woman is stiff, sudden. (This guy must have amazing social skills.) “She’s our functioning medic and mechanic.”

Alicia’s eyes flicker over to Lyndsey, taking her in. Lyndsey’s a petite human being, but toned and muscled. Long brown hair tied up and wearing only a tank top and some shorts, her olive skin glistens with sweat. Her arms and hands are rough and stained from working with metals and oils, also. But where the Californian would expect Lyndsey to be excitable, exuberant, she’s collected, attentive. Her beady brown eyes roam over Alicia, eyes lingering on the girl’s bruised stomach in a way only a medic can execute. She seems to be the perfect example of an easy-going professional – and easily the person Alicia’s warmed up to most, here.

“Nice to meet you, Alicia,” Lyndsey smiles. Alicia smiles softly in return, automatically. “I’ve heard lots about you. Elyza’s good at singing your praises.”

For some reason, Alicia _blushes_. (Damn her body for reacting without her permission.) “Um, nice to meet you too.”

She glances at the Aussie. Incredibly, she thinks she can see red blooming in the _blonde’s_ cheeks, too – though Elyza’s expression has settled into her usual laid-back one.

(Hmm. She’ll store that information away for later.)

Mikel clears his throat. “And this is Tobias.”

The brunette waits for him to say more, but the man doesn’t. It’s weirdly anti-climactic.

Instead, she turns her attention to Tobias – round but still gangly with his youth. His hair is jet black and bushy; hairs wisp around his eyes. He’s the sort of person to look out of place but simultaneously fit in with his surroundings. Mikel looks at him with respect, so maybe he does belong there. (Better than Jonas did, anyway.) Maybe not the _situation_ , but he seems to belong at Mikel’s side.

Alicia frowns. He looks familiar – really familiar. But she can’t place him.

“Do I know you?”

Tobias swallows and unlinks his hands. “Yeah, I went to your school. Your mom helped me out. Before it all happened. And I – I helped her out afterwards,” he explains. “I helped her get drugs for your brother.”

( _Nick_. Her heart stops slightly, then resumes. God, she hopes he’s okay. He’s a little shit – but, goddamn, he better be okay. She’ll be pissed if he’s not.)

She nods, and doesn’t elect to say anymore. She’s frustrated someone she knows from her old life is seeing her in this sort of pain. She’s not ashamed to show the pain, just that she’s even feeling it in the first place.

The Sun continues setting, and the shadows move. But Mikel wastes no more time on pleasantries and stares Alicia down, watching her calculatingly. He thinks she’s stupid, she knows; he thinks she’s vulnerable and overdramatic. She knows he’s only paying as much attention to her because, for some reason Mikel can’t fathom, she matters a whole lot to Elyza. Elyza seems to be the only reason why he does things nowadays.

For her part, she thinks he’s a cold, unfeeling robot of a human being. She wonders how on Earth Elyza ever befriended him in the first place.

(No, she thinks – he was different, before. The apocalypse changed him.

It’s changed everyone.

But she still stares right back at those slate grey eyes, and still knows – she hates him.)

“Lyndsey and Tobias are here to give second and third opinions about… this,” he relays dispassionately. “Lyndsey knows more about injuries than I do. And Tobias… knows a lot about unusual things. Lyndsey?”

Lyndsey taps Mikel’s shoulder; he dutifully moves out of the way, straight as a board and ready for duty. She takes his place – but crouches down next to the sofa, and brings her hand to rest on Alicia’s shoulder.

“I don’t wanna do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Lyndsey informs the ailing girl calmly. “So tell me if you don’t like it, okay?”

Alicia nods.

“Am I okay to lift your top up? I need to look at those bruises,” the Latina questions. “I won’t look at anything else underneath it.”

She nods again. Lyndsey’s approach is so different to Mikel – so much less of a burden, so much less _irritating_ – that she doesn’t feel like she’s having her privacy violated.

Lyndsey shoots her a quick smile and her lithe hands pinch the ends of her shirt as she lifts it up. It gets stuck underneath Alicia’s body – and then Elyza is there, helping her to hoist her body up. The movement causes pain to prickle in her back and her shoulders especially, but she instructs herself to breathe in, breathe out, deeply and slowly; she reminds herself that it doesn’t _actually_ hurt, that it’s all in her head. (The bruises are real, obviously, but the rest of this shittiness isn’t.)

The shirt is brought up far enough along her body, and Lyndsey pins it gently against her torso with one hand as she adjusts her position and takes a better look. It all happens quickly – a few cursory glances are all the Santa Maria resident needs – and then the shirt is back where it belongs, and Alicia can collapse onto the sofa again. As she does (as she exhales loudly, because _God_ she does not like having to balance her weight like that), Lyndsey stands up and scratches her leg.

“There’s nothing really out of place there,” the Latina reports to everyone. “The bruising is really far along for what I’d expect; apart from that, it’s all fine. And she suffered from a tiny concussion when she hit the floor, but it’s definitely not a concern. That clearly doesn’t match up with what Alicia’s thinking here, but she’s not in any danger.” She turns to the brunette in question. “You’ll survive, girl. Got a strong heart on you.” She lightly knocks the brunette’s shoulder, not even powerful enough to jostle her slightly, and her controlled smile gets wider at Alicia’s grateful one.

Alicia glances at the other people in the room as they take the information in. Mikel is frowning, deeply troubled by that fact (she thinks it’s possible that he’d rather have Alicia slip away into death just so he can get her off his back – but maybe that’s a bit of a dramatic thought). Tobias looks puzzled, but there’s a light in his eyes, an idea forming in his brain that the brunette can’t understand. And Elyza? Elyza has the most confusing reaction. Her jaw is locked, and those blue eyes are so alight. But the rest of her exudes impassiveness. The Californian wonders how she got so good at reading the Australian.

The blonde speaks up suddenly. Her face is half-hidden in shadow. “Hey, Mikel. I went to look for my truck earlier. Seemed to have gone walkabout. Is there any way I can reach it, or am I gonna have to wander about until I find her?”

Mikel breathes in deeply, then exhales through his nose. “You can walk, Elyza. Everyone else does.”

Elyza’s eyes flash with displeasure. She scoffs. “Fuck that. Ark’s my property. She belongs to me. I need my truck with me. Where is it?”

When Mikel looks down at her – he’s a good head taller than her – there’s pain behind those eyes. The slate grey crackles with longing. (Yeah, Alicia definitely has a reason to hate him.) But nothing else breaks through; he’s still the soldier dealing with a civilian kicking off. “Your truck is being stored away until it can be used for beneficial purposes. It might be used to cart things around, or its parts might be used to keep our current vehicles going. Right now, it’s more likely going to be the last one; we’re fine for trucks and cars and stuff. But it’s not to be used without permission, understood?”

“Understood my arse,” the Aussie growls, squaring up to him. “You’re trapping us in here and then taking all our shit off us? That’s bullshit, mate. That’s bullshit. This is the end of the world, not a bloody dictatorship!”

Lyndsey makes eye contact with Tobias and they share a grimace. (Alicia empathises. It’s like having front row tickets to a couple’s argument.)

“ _Exactly_ , ‘Lyza,” Mikel snaps. “It’s a goddamn apocalypse and I can’t take any chances. Don’t you think I already get the stink-eye from people I have to take things off? The only people who keep their vehicles are the ones who have been here long enough, and they only use them to keep the place going. And I may – you might be my friend, Elyza, but you are not one of those. End. Of. Discussion.” He grits his teeth before adding, “I thought you _wanted_ to come here anyway.”

“I did, Mikel,” the blonde scowls, “but not under these circumstances. I wanted you to come with me to Mount Weather. I didn’t wanna be stuck in one place like this.” She pauses. “Besides, I promised to Alicia that I’d take her to her family, and I’m _not_ about to abandon that.”

The leader pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re prioritising some girl you barely know, who’s _pretending_ that she’s injured, over security and familiarity. Not to mention, _I know you_. What happened to you, Elyza?”

Okay, _that_ Alicia can’t stand for. “ _I’m not pretending_ ,” she snarls.

It makes everyone around her jump. None of them were expecting her to talk, or to even be listening.

“Too right! Thank you, ‘Licia,” the Aussie jumps in, her arm extended to the brunette in agreement. “And I know her, okay? I do. She’s not just some random girl I picked up at a superstore.” She glances at the Californian before adding, “She’s not _just_ anything. Never.”

That’s… touching. It’s almost a shame Alicia’s as angry with the blonde as she is.

At the sight of Tobias’ building interest and preoccupation, Lyndsey interrupts the conversation. “Wait, go back a second. You said she’s not pretending. I believe it, but can you explain that?”

Mikel glowers at the olive skinned woman, knowing his opportunity to argue his case has disappeared. Alicia finds a bit of relief in that.

Green eyes connect with blue; both show the exhaustion of having to repeat the same things, over and over again. But the blonde’s eyes are gentle, asking for permission; the Californian has no option but to grant it.

(She trusts Lyndsey already. There’s not really anything that can go wrong here – though, given Alicia’s current luck, maybe she’ll find a way anyway.)

“There’s not much to say,” Elyza starts. “Jonas shot Alicia, but it hit her bullet proof vest. It hit her abdomen, and bruised it, obviously, but ‘Licia started feeling like she was… dying. Pain everywhere, feverish dreams. And sleep’s hard to come by. And she knows most of it’s not real – she’s not a drongo; she’s a clever bird – but that doesn’t stop this phantom pain. She’s called it phantom pain before.”

Tobias’ eyes are glued to the leather-clad lesbian now. He’s working through something.

There’s so much more to say. Of course there is. But Elyza doesn’t know all of it. She hasn’t felt the feeling, that feeling of almost knowing why something so strange feels so familiar. She doesn’t know about the life she’s been replaying in her dreams. She doesn’t know.

“Anything more? Anything you _can_ disclose, of course,” Lyndsey encourages the blonde.

Elyza purses her lips, thinking. “I suppose… she’s not the only one to feel that. I cut my arm a few days ago, but I felt that phantom pain too. Obviously, it wasn’t terrible like ‘Licia’s, but… it felt like there’d been another wound there. Or there was supposed to be, I don’t know. And there have been weird things happening – like the swords! I was telling you about her sword skills. And her knife skills. She’d never thrown a knife in her life and she was ace at it. And the sword fighting! She bloody knocked me over and all, had her blade on my chest, ready to dig it in when she realised what she was doing and got off me. It’s fucking weird. I – I don’t know what’s happening.”

It’s only then that Alicia realises that Elyza’s worried about all of the occurrences too. That she’s been thinking about it as much as the Californian has. That it scares her as much as it does the brunette.

The Aussie’s eyes find hers again – there’s an intensity in there, an intensity in something Alicia isn’t able to figure out. “The phantom pain’s happened before. It was Alicia’s leg. It took a while, but eventually it went away. Hopefully… that’ll happen again, right? It’ll go away, and she’ll be okay?”

Her last question is directed at Lyndsey, Tobias, anyone. It’s pleading – and, God, Alicia feels that too. There’s currently nothing else she wants in this world more than to _not feel like she’s dying_.

“I think it will,” Tobias speaks up, finally. His eyes are boring into space, information dancing behind his eyes as he thinks. “But there needs to be a catalyst. I think – if it’s what I think it is – you need to know about this one to get rid of it.”

Mikel frowns. “What are you talking about, Tobias? You’re not making sense.”

Tobias holds up a hand, squinting. “I don’t remember everything about this, but it’s… it’s a concept that’s come from different cultures. This is the combination that’s most likely to be the truth – that _is_ the truth, but it’s not well-known at all – it’s usually dismissed.” He turns his head to the ailing brunette. “Have you been dreaming of dying, at all? Has it been someone else’s death? Have you dreamed of their life?”

A chill runs down Alicia’s spine.

How does he know? How can he be so accurate?

She nods meekly.

He breathes out. “Okay – that – that helps. The pain – it’ll go eventually, but you’ll have to wait it out. I think… it was never intended to last long, but you’re still around. That pain _is_ real, but… it wasn’t you who felt it. You’re prolonging the pain of someone who actually did die. In a past life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on the new characters I've introduced? Let me know!


	11. well, fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time comes knowledge; with time comes deliverance.  
> Alicia wishes time would hurry up.  
> And then - deliverance arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :) Here it is! The big revelation! And a few surprises chucked in there too!
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Ivory // Adam French.
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria

The air hums with confusion and discomfort. Which is fitting, Alicia thinks, because that’s _exactly_ what she’s feeling right now. It’s got to be the craziest response to an equally crazy situation, but the fact that this situation even _exists_ means literally anything is worth listening to right now.

Basically – it sounds impossible, but she’s currently stuck in the middle of the apocalypse, feeling like she’s dying while someone else’s death plays before her eyes when she sleeps. Everything is possible _because_ it’s impossible. She’s in no place to judge whatsoever.

Pre-apocalypse Alicia would’ve had a good laugh at the idea. Post-apocalypse Alicia is actually willing to listen. With apprehension, sure, but at least she’s still willing to listen.

Her head twists to watch the others’ reactions: Mikel is still frowning – what a surprise! – while Elyza has attached a sceptical smirk to her expression. Lyndsey, on the other hand, looks on with disbelieving curiosity.

Alicia, for her part, scoffs before schooling her face into something totally neutral. Some of her old habits won’t go away, but she’s getting better at this, okay? She can pull a good poker face when she needs to; she’s not _just_ a somewhat rebellious teenager.

( _She’s not just anything_ , according to Elyza. Her heart still warms at that comment, and she gets annoyed at that.)

“Not to be rude, Tobias,” Elyza starts, licking her lips, “but what the fuck are you talking about?”

Mikel speaks over the Aussie’s last words as he shoves in his supposedly important few words, “You can’t have past lives, Tobias. I know you’ve explained things to me before, but this is… ridiculous.”

The blonde glowers at him for interrupting.

“Look, I know what I’m talking about, alright?” Tobias responds defensively. “I can’t say it all off the top of my head. But it’s been proven to be true; all the cases scientists have had have pointed to these findings. They’re just not publicised. It would have disrupted everything we’ve ever done.” He crosses his arms again and turns his attention to the brunette on the sofa. “I swear, Alicia, it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds. What you and Elyza have said _fits._ Your case sounds like the other cases they tested – but, stronger. Phantom pains, special skills… it’s all there. They all lead to you remembering, and reuniting.”

Elyza’s eyes flicker up from their previous fixation on Alicia to pin Tobias to the spot. Wryly, she comments, “You make her sound like a test subject.”

Tobias starts, his hands dithering about slightly before returning to crossing his arms. But all the time, there’s a sense of command about him; wisdom found in unorthodox books and pockets of information. He’s the one with it all. Elyza, in her ignorance, has to wait for his next words, his next enlightening.

“The difference is that you two will have all the information you need to really make it count.”

The two girls barely have time to mull over Tobias’ words in cautious surprise, before Lyndsey jumps in. “Reuniting? You mean Elyza too?”

(What’s the blonde got to do with it? In that chair again, the Australian sits up straighter, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised.

Then the Californian remembers Elyza’s dreams – her own phantom pain – her own clues back to another place – and, _oh_. She may not be in this alone, it seems.)

The carpet bows down beneath Tobias’ feet as his body leans marginally towards the medic. He coughs awkwardly. “Yeah, that… needs more time to explain. And more information.”

Alicia takes a deep breath. The boy in front of her is the most frustrating mix of blunt and vague; he gives them the truth and simultaneously delays it, preventing her from flushing this goddamn pain out of her system. She doesn’t know if he’s doing it for dramatic effect or not, but it’s _fucking annoying_ , and he needs to tell them what’s happening immediately. He needed to tell her five minutes ago, actually.

Elyza seems to agree. “Well, we’re not getting any younger, are we? You gonna tell us this information or not?”

(There’s a sky crackling with lightning in those blue, blue eyes; her voice is the thunder that rumbles along to her thoughts. The brunette’s blood sings with the same electricity, and she is aware of it, oh so aware of it, in this moment.

Elyza is inevitable. She is annoying and beautiful and thoughtful and she _didn’t tell her_ , but she is inevitable and Alicia cannot, will not and would not prevent it.)

At this request, Tobias becomes more self-conscious as his attention flips to Mikel. His voice is steady as he admits, “All the information we need is in a book in the library. I – I was there last week. It survived – I know it. I was reading it then.”

“Why were you reading it then? You were patrolling all of last week, weren’t you?” is Mikel’s terse reply.

Tobias’ face heats up. His eyes flicker to Lyndsey for the most infinitesimal of moments before he tentatively relays, “Something I saw interested me. Well, bugged me. I’d – I’d seen it before, but… this time I read up about it, found out that I was right.”

Lyndsey crooks an eyebrow, but says no more.

Mikel puts his hands on his hips. His right hand brushes by his pistol as he does so; Alicia flinches. “So you want to make a trip to the library _just_ to inform these girls about a conspiracy theory involving past lives and reincarnation?”

“Reincarnation’s an important concept to many, Mikel,” Lyndsey cuts in calmly. “It’s not quite as ridiculous as you’d like to think.” She chews on her bottom lip before adding, “And if it means that Alicia might heal sooner – what’s the point in deliberating?”

The way the Santa Maria leader slowly unstiffens his shoulders interests the ailing brunette. Maybe Lyndsey has more influence on this man than she originally thought. If so, the two travelling girls just found a way to make life a lot easier for themselves.

(The way Elyza begins to regard Lyndsey with calculating curiosity leads her to believe that the Aussie thinks so too.)

After a few silent moments – moments that aren’t silent at all, moments that are filled with taxing agony and frustrations, moments filled with a nearness, a closeness, and a feeling of being distant from reality – Mikel eventually nods his head.

Lyndsey smiles triumphantly and Tobias breaths out audibly in relief. The latter claps his hands together and reassures the other man, “I swear, it’s worth using the fuel.”

“Only if it works,” Mikel responds gruffly. “We’ll talk if it doesn’t.” After a moment’s deliberation, he starts walking the front door; he turns to the Latina, who is dutifully behind him. “Lyndsey, who’s on patrol in the area around the library?”

At that, Lyndsey perks up again. “Mary is,” she relays easily. Though, with a downward turn of her lips, she adds, “And Frank.” Her voice drips with impatience – or irritation, maybe.

Tobias, who’d zoned out just as Mikel set off to the door, hurries to join his two neighbours. At Lyndsey’s obvious discomfort about this Frank, he frowns. “What about Frank? He’s alright, isn’t he?”

(Alicia watches them go impassively; the only feeling she does register beside the pain and the ‘unfamiliar familiarity’ feeling is a growing anticipation to read this book and whatever it may hold.)

The Latina rolls her head over to the boy and responds drily, her voice getting quieter with distance, “Yeah, he’s nice until he doesn’t stop asking about having a threesome with you and your girlfriend, his patrol buddy.”

Tobias’ reaction is a simple, “Oh.”

(Which is Alicia’s reaction, too. This place seems to be filled with entitled morons. First Jonas, then Mikel, and now this Frank guy. She can’t wait to never see them again.)

At the last second (just as Mikel yanks open the door), the Aussie starts suddenly and pipes up, “Wait – what about my truck?”

The Santa Maria resident flies around to face Elyza. There’s a look of exasperation breaking through on his face, but it doesn’t make the blonde cower. He opens his mouth to severely reprimand her – when Tobias cuts in.

“You’d really want to stay to hear about this,” the boy informs her, his words docile despite the topic at hand. “You’ll find out where you fit in with this.” He doesn’t even stay to consider Elyza’s reaction. Just a quick nod to Mikel and he’s gone.

Then the remaining Santa Maria residents disappear out of the threshold. The door slams, ringing in their ears. 

Then it’s just the two of them again; a fly buzzes uselessly around the room. The material of the chair underneath the blonde protests audibly as she adjusts her position. Alicia moves her head so she rests on the back of it – staring straight ahead, eyes on the ceiling, a growing anxiety building, building, building.

(No peace. Even in the quiet – no peace.)

Why should she expect anything else? In this fucked up, impossible world she lives in – why did she think she would never come into contact with crazy shit like this? God – _reincarnation._ In any other world, she wouldn’t believe it.

In this world, though, it’s all she’s got. So she doesn’t have a choice – she _has_ to believe it.

What a world.

Movement elicits sound again; louder, breaking through the silence: Elyza is suddenly on her feet, stomping aimlessly as she mutters to herself. Elyza makes no attempt to enlighten the brunette about what the hell she’s talking about.

She has ears, though. She’s not deaf. The Californian catches a few words in the barely audible mess – she hears the words, “fucking” and “truck”, unsurprisingly.

“You’re not going to find it, Elyza,” Alicia scowls. “Can you sit down?”

“I’m hypothesising,” Elyza responds, still turning, still circling, with all the grace of a dancer. Her eyes are on the ceiling, too, on a higher plane as she thinks. (Sometimes, the Aussie seems to suit the apocalypse entirely. This is not one of those moments.)

She’s done with thinking. “You’re making my head spin.” Her voice is still fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. It scratches her insides on the way out and her tongue is like sandpaper. Like ash; living after dying.

The effect is instant; the blonde returns to her seat. “Sorry,” the blonde grimaces. “It’s just – it’s worrying.”

“I know.”

A heartbeat. The Californian finally recognises the smell that clings faintly onto this house, onto Santa Maria: smoke. Burning. Fire. Lazily, she turns her head to the side to study the furniture in the living room. Everything, everything is coated with dust, a few flakes of ash. From other houses? From other people? It’s all the same – it’s all death, all the remains of the world before this.

It chases her everywhere. It has throughout her whole life. Her dad, her grandparents. The death of her family, falling apart in her hands. Travis and Chris, grey, coated with the ash Alicia’s dad left. And now, the apocalypse. And now, the life that inhabits hers. In her head. Everywhere.

She used to think ash was pretty. Whenever they went to bonfires – July 4th celebrations, parties and sleepovers – she used to peer at it, like most watched the embers of a fire. She used to think ash was a pretty little thing. Like snow.

A bitter smile fits into her face, where complacency was, once. No, ash is not pretty; it’s devastating. Snow is water; snow is cold, but life lives in it, thrives in it, uses it to conquer thirst. Ash conquers the dead – dead trees, dead people. This place, Santa Maria – it’s a modern day Pompeii, encasing the dead, the damned, preserving them.

Unhappily, she adds to herself – shouldn’t _she_ be ash, too? If death follows her – if death _lives_ in her, as ash does the devastating fire – then she should be called that, too. She preserves what is gone.

She’s gone too far on this train of thought. It’s depressing her.

Elyza drags her out of that rapidly spiralling thought process. (Somehow, Alicia isn’t even surprised.) “Are you talking to me, then? Properly?”

Alicia ignores her. That’s enough of an answer.

“Jesus, ‘Licia,” the blonde sighs angrily, cradling her head in her hands for a second. The Californian watches as she drags her hands down her skin (not forceful enough to create permanent indents), and looks, anguished, at the ailing brunette. “I’m not gonna annoy you to get you to speak to me. Just – please. We need to cooperate.”

She wants to shout back – why should we?

She also wants to listen, because there’s always going to be a part of her that wants to listen. And now, it seems like they _must_ listen to each other; somehow, somehow, Elyza is caught up in the mess that surrounds Alicia’s life, and Alicia must take her into account in everything she does.

(Somehow, somehow, she thinks that she’s _always_ needed to listen to Elyza. That she always will. Even when she doesn’t feel like it – the blonde’s just _there_ , ready to inhabit, strengthen, all that she touches.)

That in itself is a scary prospect. That sort of intensity has barely touched her in her life. Family is different: family is obligation. The family she had wanted disappeared; the family she wants is frayed, scattered and currently unattainable. She can shake off family (and she guesses, unfortunately, she has already); getting rid of Elyza is something else entirely.

And – she swallows uneasily – the whole time she’s been royally pissed off at Annoying Gun Girl, she’s never actually wanted her to leave Alicia completely.

It poses a problem (alright, a paradox) for herself, but she can’t say it’s particularly shocking news.

It’s still scary as hell, though. It’s not dependency – no, she and Elyza are _quite_ fine on their own, thank you very much – but consideration. There will always be a part of her that thinks of Elyza. Both intense and relaxed; fiery and expected. It makes no sense, but it’s happening, anyway.

It makes no sense to her, because she’s only ever experienced obligation – not consideration – in her life, through her family. Family is all she’s ever known. She saw Matt subjectively, not objectively – he was an _escape_ from it all – because family life was so – so overbearing. Between the death of her dad, Travis’ unwelcome presence and Nick’s stupid addiction, she’d felt herself lose her grip on what she’d known. It had been too much for her to take; like Elyza’s circling, it had made her head spin and made her search for anything to alleviate it, anything, anything.

Matt was there, then. He was sweet and he had the same temperament. He cared. He was enough. She poured herself into that – and then lost him, when everyone lost each other as the dead rose to walk again.

It’s always been obligation, when it should’ve been different. It shouldn’t have _hurt_ to be with the people who she loved.

Obligation was all she knew. (Until Elyza.)

Still, she thinks as she turns over, there’s _some_ comfort in obligation. Repetition, whatever. She thinks of the few times she and Nick got on, or her mother’s hugs. That’s what she still has to cling onto. She misses that.

The sofa smells like ash and her muscles are so tired with soreness, and she misses her family. (Hell, she even misses _Strand_ and his grumpy face.) She misses that obligation, and the comfort she got from it, because it’s been all she’s known for so long.

The tears fall down again. She’s surprised she even has any left; she’s cried so many times, she’s lost count now. But they do fall, and they stain the material beneath her. The sofa, her clothes.

(She still smells smoke. It’s potent. Cloying. She hates it. She hates everything.)

God, she misses her family so fucking much. She’s scared, and she misses them.

She’s scared about everything. This place. This world. How she’s not near her mom, or Nick, or anyone she knows that is still alive. This goddamn _reincarnation_ thing. It makes no sense, but she knows it could be true (did she know her mom in her past life? Were _they_ all reincarnated too?) – and she’s not sure of anything anymore. She doesn’t even know what truth is anymore, what it is at its core.

Maybe – maybe truth exists differently for everyone. Maybe it’s got different forms, different versions of itself. Maybe that’s why conflict exists – because no one can decide on the truth. What Alicia’s built herself around – her knowledge and her truth, the _right_ truth – doesn’t apply everywhere, doesn’t apply to everyone. Maybe not even herself.

Or maybe it does.

She doesn’t know. By God, does she _wish_ she knew.

It’s been – what? A minute? – since the blonde asked for her to cooperate. She doesn’t think the Aussie has even moved from her position; she’s just watched as Alicia has silently bawled about missing her family. (Alicia’s glad she didn’t come up to comfort her. It would feel like an imposition. Elyza may have aimed to take the brunette back to her family, but they and the Australian are separate in her mind.)

She wants to be petty, to ignore Elyza. But, she also just wants to know.

(Truth. Opinion. Whatever the fucking truth is.)

She sniffs, breathes in (breathes in ash, burning), and adjusts herself so she faces the rest of the room. The other girl watches her, cautious and desperately calm. Alicia knows it; she watches right back, gauging the blonde’s emotions.

Tentatively – “Do you believe in it? The reincarnation thing?”

The anger that rolled across Elyza’s face, like dark clouds crashing with thunder, has been smoothed out now. Exasperation is still there, but it melts away with every second. For the most part, the Aussie regards her with concern. (And something else. Something deeper. Always, always deeper.)

Elyza plays with the rips in her jeans, and her eyes zone in on the action. “Not until now,” she answers finally. “It’s – it’s fucking crazy, but it actually makes sense.” She pauses. “Hopefully.” Then her eyes lift to meet Alicia’s again. “Same for you?”

The brunette nods. “It’s all I’ve got.”

An uncomfortable cough. “All _we’ve_ got,” the other girl corrects. “Apparently I’m caught up in this mess, too, remember?” When the Californian doesn’t reply, she breathes out airily and leans back on the chair, her hands splayed out on the arms of the chair. The picture of relaxation (but Alicia knows otherwise, obviously). “Not what I expected when I got here, I have to admit.”

“You expected to see your friend and keep me in the dark, didn’t you?” is Alicia’s retort. It comes out before she can think about it, poison on her tongue that wounds the blonde.

Elyza’s eyes blaze for a second – a flash of lightning – but then she calms down again. A cloudless evening sky, maybe.

“I think I deserved that,” she mutters to herself. Then, to Alicia, “I would’ve told you later. Just… not when it happened.” She frowns. “I don’t know. It’s – I would’ve told you.”

“Sure,” she responds sarcastically.

The brunette stops watching the Australian, sitting up inch by inch – by her own strength, no less. (Yeah, exactly. She figures that deserves a trophy.) After she gets comfortable enough, her hands travel to her legs. Her right hand traces a figure eight on its side (an infinity sign, then?) as she purposely ignores Elyza trying to figure her out. Her hands are still shaking; the smooth line she’s trying to draw becomes broken at the end of her attempt, meaning half of one side is broken into dots.

She’s done with shaking with exertion. She’s done with hurting. Jesus Christ, she’s done with just about everything.

“That’s why you’re pissed,” Elyza notes, breaking through the silence. “You’re as mad as a dunny rat ‘cause I didn’t tell you. That makes… a hell of a lot more sense, ‘cause nothing else really works, does it?”

When Alicia looks at her again, it’s with another glare. Because, duh. She thought the Aussie was _smart._

“And here I was thinking you were jealous of Mikel,” the blonde grins.

The fucking – Alicia rolls her eyes, because, seriously?

The only sound that fills the air for a second is the sound of Elyza scratching the side of her head as she gathers her thoughts together. And then she speaks. “Joking aside, I kinda understand now. You trusted me, right?”

The other girl nods.

(She hasn’t even realised that it doesn’t hurt as much it used to. She hasn’t even realised that everything hurts less. Her mind is too focused on the words coming out of those cherry red lips, because they’re what matter to her right now. For all of her anger, her betrayal, what matters to her is Elyza. The source of her irritation; the source of her hope.)

“And I – I guess I betrayed that. And that’s pretty shit, obviously. You wanted me to tell you, ‘cause you’re meant to meet your family, right? Yeah, okay. I understand that,” the blonde keeps talking, mostly to herself. Then her eyes land on Alicia’s again, blue on green, both intense. “I guess I just got caught up in my own head. That wasn’t fair on you.

“I just kept thinking about what you said, y’know? About letting go of the past, and all that. And I didn’t wanna be restricted by my past, but I’d already promised Mikel, and… yeah, I still wanted to see him. Curiosity, mostly. He was my friend – though he’s a dick now. Anyway, I had to see how he was doing. I told myself, if he didn’t wanna come to Mount Weather after I dropped you off, that worked out too, ‘cause that meant I really could leave my past behind. Keep on surviving.” She frowns to herself, but shakes it off. “I’d tell you after. On the way down, or when I said goodbye. So I’d tell you, definitely, just when it was over with. When it wasn’t right in my face, I suppose. I don’t know if it was guilt of hanging onto my past, or wanting to separate you and him, but… I was gonna tell you eventually. But it didn’t work out that way, which is a load of _shit_ right now.” At her last words, Elyza rests the side of her head on a fist, and scowls at the front door. “Now you’re in pain and I can’t even help, and I can’t find my truck with all my stuff in, and our future’s determined by a book about bloody reincarnation. No wonder you’re pissed.”

Comprehension trickles down from Alicia’s brain, spreading all throughout her. Not a plague, but a cure. It helps to know that Elyza _would’ve_ told her, that she _does_ trust the brunette – but, there’s guilt mixed in there, too. Alicia made Elyza feel _guilty_ about wanting to be around her past. That might not have been her intention, but it happened.

And, well, that’s a bit shit, too.

And Elyza hasn’t actually apologised. Which is still smarts.

Yet – the infinity sign, dotted and smooth, keeps on being traced into her leg. This is truth, she knows. Truth is subjective, but truth still stands. What Alicia thought was the truth – that Elyza didn’t trust her enough – was wrong. Elyza told her the truth, which will fit in to her own truth, which won’t always correspond with _other people’s_ truths, like Mikel, who will have a different perspective entirely on things…

Around and around and around: an infinity of opinions until broken by real truths. Sometimes it will correspond with perspectives; sometimes it won’t.

That’s truth, she decides. That’s what she’ll mould herself on.

She wonders how much more she’ll uncover when Tobias comes back with that book.

“I’ll tell you next time, okay?”

Alicia starts, taken by surprise.

“I will. I’m sorry. This is your journey as much as mine; you deserve to know what I’m planning,” Elyza continues earnestly. “We’re not as separate as I think we are, sometimes. Come to think of it… I don’t think we are at all. The universe brought me to you for some reason. It’s just figuring out what that reason is, right?”

The smile that the blonde flashes the Californian with is tentative – it’s a question: are we okay now?

The brunette gives a small smile back: we’ll get there.

(She has no idea how achingly true that will be, soon. She has a feeling, but no evidence yet, of how much an understatement that’ll be. The unfamiliar familiarity feeling surges again, pleased at that concept.)

Elyza’s smile is wider now.

And – twenty minutes later, when the Aussie is absorbed in her drawing, and Alicia wonders what geometry she’s perfecting now, the smile gets stronger.

“Thank you,” the brunette tells her, and doesn’t say anything else. (See? Not just a moody teenager. She has a heart, and it can forgive.)

But the other girl understands; she doesn’t look up, but the smile that returns to that sculpted face is assured. Relieved, as well.

(Alicia can relate. She had no idea how much Elyza’s trust actually means to her – but, yeah, she’s definitely relieved for a reason.)

It takes a few more minutes for her to come to the realisation that Elyza is drawing her. Not just simply drawing – but drawing Alicia. It’s undeniable; it’s in the way her eyes dart around the Californian’s face, scrutinising her in the way only artists can. There’s nothing else to distract the brunette now – no book, no food, nothing. There’s only this startling truth. Despite herself, it fascinates her.

Alicia’s not an artist; she never was. So she can’t help but wonder – how many times does an artist have to draw someone to memorise their face completely? What does it take? Is every angle a fresh start, a new exploration?

She thinks about Elyza might do to discover her.

(Fingertips calloused from a life struggling to survive, the dust of charcoal lingering. Tracing her jawline, following the soft peach curves, palms flat to grace the mountains with reverence. Holding steady her earthquakes, nails digging in to leave small idents, keeping the rhythm of life intact.

Eyes locked on the bobbing muscle of her throat and the flutter of her eyes rolling to the heavens. Eyes committing to memory the lakes of brown billowing beneath her, how it shines in the half-fledged light. Capturing the rise and fall of each stuttered breath, how her plump lips form with every keening sound.)

Is that what it takes?

Does she want Elyza to memorise her like that?

(She knows she does before she can desperately decide she feels the opposite. Before she can wake herself from this heavy, dazed slumber playing out before open eyes.)

The brunette blinks to dispel the images away – images she’s scandalised about, but, frankly, not going to forget any time soon – and adjusts her position on the sofa. She hooks her toes around the blanket now pooled around her feet and brings her legs up, pulling the material closer to her chest.

She may not be able to forget what she’s just thought of, but she certainly can try to distract herself from replaying those thoughts.

“Why are you drawing me?” Apparently, she’s distracting herself with the thing that started it all off in the first place. (Jesus, she’s so gay sometimes.)

The Aussie blinks up at her, and has the decency to look a little bit sheepish – she _has_ just made Alicia her model without her permission, after all. But there’s no way to deny it, so the blonde shrugs and decides to come clean. “Your warpaint got smudged too – and, I don’t know, it got me inspired. Don’t get much inspiration in the apocalypse.”

Fair point. “Do I have to pose a certain way?” It’s half a joke, half derisive. It’s something – she needs _anything_ – to occupy her mind right now.

If Elyza recognises the tension that runs it currents through the Californian’s words, she doesn’t comment on it. With a small smirk, she responds coolly, “I’m not pretentious enough to make you pose for something so small. Just face this way, and do whatever the hell you want. I only need your face anyway.” She pauses, hit by an idea. “You could sleep, if you want. You won’t be alone when you wake up.”

Thanks, probably? Alicia nods, mostly because she doesn’t know what to say to that. Forgiveness, although already given, takes a while to take hold.

She closes her eyes, because there’s nothing left to do now the conversation has ended.

(She could watch Elyza draw, but she dismisses that idea. She knows she would only _start_ watching the blonde draw; her eyes would drift to other places, other features, and the thoughts she’s trying _really_ hard to banish right now would come straight back to the forefront of her mind.

Well, they wouldn’t be doing _anything_ straight, really. She thinks back to her time in the ranch house, when she was in the bath. The time she admitted to herself that she wasn’t straight – and that she was attracted to her Aussie companion. She’d known it could be a problem, but she hadn’t anticipated _this._ )

Thoughts of her sexuality aside are pushed aside – no, more like thrown aside with little consideration – when the panic surges up again, as it always must when she closes her eyes. Her body is tense; her shoulders are stone and her fists like rock when the pain rolls into her, as it always must when she closes her eyes. Once again, she feels like this is it, like she’ll never see her family again, because her heart is thrumming wildly with terror – and it’s taking everything she is not to moan in agony – and oh, God, she’s going to die—

But – she’s going to – the pain fizzles out from her fingertips – leaving them smooth and painless and so wonderfully _normal._ And everything else still _hurts_ , God does it hurt – but the lack of agony in her fingers is such an alien feeling that she’s immediately struck with how amazing it feels. She’s engrossed by how much it _doesn’t_ sting; she can barely keep in her gasp of joyous surprise.

Still with shallow breathing, she keeps her eyes screwed shut as the feels the stinging in her hands slowly fade away. It’s like surfacing her hands while the rest of her body stays under water – although it’s not just water, it’s electrified or something equally as horrible. Hope blooms in her chest, excitement comes to fruition in deep scarlet blossom – and her eyes fly open. She inhales deeply, propping herself up on her elbows despite the strain; when she expels the air, her lips are stretched into a relieved smile.

Elyza is understandably puzzled. “Hey, you m—Alicia…?”

Conversely, the brunette is exhilarated. Tired, so fucking tired, but exhilarated, too. Her eyes droop but her smile is wide. “It was fading. The pain. It’s going.”

It’s only _now_ that she recognises that she hurts less _overall_ ; compared to how she was feeling when Mikel and his gang came to check in, the pain isn’t quite as intense. And it’s completely gone from her hands now. It’s just – dissipated into thin air, the ash brushed off.

_Fucking finally._

The art book falls onto the floor in the blonde’s excitable scramble to get closer to the Californian. She sits up straight, her back not anywhere near the back of the chair, blue eyes wholly fixed on green.

(Both of them thinks – they want to live in this shared moment of elation forever.)

Alicia’s words tumble over each other in her excitement. “There’s no pain in my hands at all – and – okay, so everything else still hurts – but it’s not as much as before – does this mean I’ll be okay soon? God, I hope so,” she bursts.

The Aussie’s smile is so wide it should probably hurt her. “It’s starting, ‘Licia. You’re getting better.”

She’s never been so happy to hear those six words. She collapses back down and laughs, despite herself. She’s practically _drunk_ on happiness – but she feels she has a right to be. She’s clawed her way through a day and a half of feeling like she’s dying. She’s entitled to be happy about finally glimpsing the end of all that agonising misery. Even if she’s not pain-free, she’s on the home stretch.

“As much as my gay heart appreciates the sight of a beautiful girl lying down near me, this means you’ll be up soon!” Elyza grins. Alicia shoots her a thoroughly displeased look (she’s not appreciating the flirting, currently), but the Australian powers on anyway. “Which means we can get out of this place. And – we can get Ark back. And – you can find your family again. Has anything else happened? Is anything else feeling better? Your arms, maybe?”

The Californian swallows and tries again, breathing out slowly and closing her eyes. It all starts again – it starts, the panic, the pain, the hurt, the agony – and Alicia tries to keep as good a grip on reality as she can – but nothing changes.

The ever-increasing intensity of anxiety survives, as does the pain. But only her hands are blissfully free of throbbing soreness.

She’s glad to open her eyes, but not glad to tell Elyza of what’s just gone on – or, what _hasn’t_ gone on. She’s stuck with pain-free hands.

A strange feeling, but she’ll get used to it.

The blonde’s face falls minutely, but she schools her expression into a determined one. She nods to herself, eyes catching the light and sparkling with stars as she turns thoughts over in her head. “Okay, so we’ve got a starting place. D’you think it needs something else to prompt it? Like… more information, maybe?”

That throws Alicia off-guard… and truth spins towards her, striking her right between the eyes. It _must_ be that – this starting point needed to be prompted by something else, didn’t it? The pain wasn’t going anywhere before – before – before…

Before Tobias, Mikel and Lyndsey visited. Before Tobias first suggested the reincarnation idea. _Of course._ Of course she needs more information.

“The reincarnation thing,” the brunette offers, the beginning of an explanation. “When Tobias told me that, it—”

It’s natural, the way her eyes flicker down to the floor – but they get stuck there, held in place by her curiosity. On the floor, from where it had fallen from Elyza’s lap, is the art book. Despite the fall, it’s managed to land open on the most recently used page, face up for anyone to view. On that page is Elyza’s newest drawing: Alicia, but… different.

Without thinking, she reaches down and scoops it up, wincing when she stretches her muscles to claps her hand around it. Up to her face, she can see it clearer: Alicia’s sharply angled face, a form more of shapes than anything else, but still with incredible detail added, as she holds up a sword with one hand in a defensive stance. Her hair is braided back, and messy with all the fighting, presumably. Her war paint is smudged as she brings a wrist to brush across her cheekbone, a tanned hand now lavished with charcoal. In between her war paint, in the middle of her head, a little symbol is stuck onto her skin. (She thinks she vaguely recognises the shape – the Norse Helm of Awe, maybe?) She appears to be bleeding; black blood leaks out of one nostril and trickles down the corner of her bottom lip.

It’s incredible. Words cannot describe how incredible it is. And her heart still stings, but it is mending – and now it stops for a second at how incredible this picture is.

And, Christ, it’s only a _drawing_. Elyza did this with a _pencil._ All Alicia can do with a pencil is a few doodles.

Alicia looks back up at the blonde, mouth slightly open. No words come out, because they’re just not _there_. The English language is currently failing her completely and right now, she is just a mess of – everything.

The Aussie purses her lips slightly, as if put out by the interruption of their conversation. Yet there’s no embarrassment of being found out. She drew the picture; she owns its discovery. (There’s no way the brunette can catch her off-guard when her confidence is up in a situation like this.) “Like I said; your war paint inspired me. I thought it’d look cool if you were a warrior or something. A warrior queen, probably.”

That’s when she spots the scarlet sash her warrior queen self is sporting.

 _Heda._ The name whirls around her, a howl in a vortex, and that feeling of unfamiliar familiarity rears up again – almost suffocating her with its intensity. Alicia quietly chokes on her words.

(If she didn’t think Elyza was inevitable before – well, this blows all uncertainty out of the water.)

Before either can really comment on the picture – or the brunette’s spluttering – the door is opened again. But it yawns as it’s pushed, and the footsteps are far more languid than the brusque ones they’re eagerly expecting.

Alicia’s ears prick up. She knows that set of footsteps.

And then – “Where the fuck is Mikel?”

And then – “ _Alicia?”_

She whips around to see the source of the noise (and winces, because _God_ that was a stupid idea). And gasps.

He looks – actually, he looks okay. She’s certainly seen him in much worse conditions – lying on the side of the road; drugged up, scruffy and pale; drugged up and hooked up to machines in hospital beds. He looks like he’s been eating well – for the end of the world, anyway – and he’s been getting exercise. He’s missing his shoes, though.

It’s still him. It’s still _Nick._

(The universe must really love her right now.)

“ _Nick?_ ” is her response, just as shocked but way more croaky. She coughs and tries again. “You’re here?”

“Yeah,” he grins, and shuffles over to her sofa. “Looks like they weren’t lying. You really are here. And… in a bad condition, yeah.”

She can’t believe this. This must be a dream or something. She’d half given up with ever seeing him again.

Right now, she doesn’t care about her condition. She’s just glad he’s here – _finally._ She won’t have to deal with never seeing him again, thank God.

(Well, if everything goes well, anyway.)

She’s about to have words with him, but – “Shut up and come here.” Yeah, words can wait.

He bends down and she envelopes her arms around him, pulling him closer so she can properly hug him – her _brother_ , she found her brother again – and it’s fine, it’s fine, until he squeezes too tight, and she whimpers at the sudden pressure.

“Hey, go easy on her,” Elyza snaps at him – and the relief is gone. Back to normality.

(Back to Elyza, back to wondering where the hell Nick went and _why_. The anger and desperation she felt at being abandoned rises up in her again, and she’s significantly less happy than she was when she walked.)

Nick lets go of her, his arms slipping past hers to fall at his side as he stands up. His eyebrow is arched, his head lopsided, and Alicia knows he’s feigning curious confusion. “Who’s this chick, then?” he questions his sister, and there’s a flash of concern there. It’s appreciated, however misplaced. He regards Elyza in his usual way: laid-back, yet cautious.

“This chick is the one who saved your sister after you abandoned her.” Elyza’s voice is sharp, acrid as it rings through Alicia’s ears. The Australian stands up; she’s still smaller than him, but she folds her arms, purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, now.

Her hands are in fists. She’s formidable. Nick swallows but lifts his head.

She’s going to have to do some damage control. For God’s sake.

“Hey, I didn’t—” Nick starts.

“Don’t try to defend yourself,” Elyza cuts him off sharply. “You left when she needed you most. She was lucky I found her when I did; she would’ve been dead by now if I hadn’t shot that walker.”

He rolls his eyes, and retorts, “Yeah, I can defend myself, actually. I tried to look for her, okay? I doubled back to that town, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. I went to the town centre, some of the homes, the superstore—”

Wait—

“You were there?” Alicia interrupts, eyes wide.

“Yeah, like, four days ago,” Nick continues, turning his head lazily to look at the Californian. “And then I came across this place and wasn’t allo—”

Elyza snorts. “Oh, so you abandoned her and decided to come back? You were too late by then; we’d gone back to my house. Maybe if you hadn’t left her in the first place you wouldn’t need to—”

Nick snaps his head back to Elyza. He frowns, “You took her to your place? Alicia, why did you even trust her, she’s a—”

“Because I helped her, for a week, might I add. I was there when you—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Alicia shouts, and the goddamn tennis match between Elyza and Nick immediately stops. “Just shut up.” God, those two are annoying. “I’m still pissed off with you, Nick – but lay it off, ‘Lyza. At least he’s alive. You said he did the right thing, didn’t you? At the truck after you helped me. I remember.”

Elyza tilts her head as she thinks back to that day; her eyes flash with the same fire Alicia felt herself be consumed by, but eventually she nods and unfolds her arms.

“Thank you,” Nick mutters airily, mostly to himself.

She twists her head to stare Nick down. “Shut it, Nick,” the brunette growls. “You haven’t won either. You left me to die, remember?”

“There were wa—“

“No,” Alicia stops him. “You didn’t stop to help out. You just ran. You left me. So I have a reason to be pissed off, okay?” She locks eyes with the blonde this time. “With both of you.”

With a stolen glance at the brunette’s abdomen, the other girl protests, “I was just—”

Alicia sighs. “Yeah, I _know_. But you don’t need to be protective over me, Elyza. The last time you did something without running it past me, I ended up here, almost _dying_ , while Mikel was getting all cosy with you. I’m _fine_. With or without… this.” She points to her blanketed stomach.

Elyza’s jaw slams shut as if operated by a wire. It stays wired shut, too. But she doesn’t say anything else.

The electricity stays portent in the air for a few seconds as Alicia fixes them both with glares until they back down. Elyza is the one to submit first; she huffs and sits back down in her chair. Alicia only realises she’s still clutching onto the art book when the Aussie gently prises it out of her hands; subdued but satisfied, Elyza snatches up her pencil from the floor and makes critical, minute adjustments to the picture.

Finally, Nick sighs his defeat through his nose and moves away, arms folded as he takes in the room before him. “Cosy little place you’re staying in,” he notes as he strolls. He spins around, gauges his sister’s reaction. “Of course Mikel would choose a house like this for himself?”

Alicia can’t help it; she’s curious. “Like what?”

He smiles at Alicia. “Intact. Not destroyed, fully or partially. That guy who shot you—”

“Jonas,” she spits.

Nick waves his hand in a non-committal gesture. “Yeah, him. He’s living in a room. Rest of the house has been burnt down. It’s part of his punishment, I guess.”

“Serves him right,” Elyza comments curtly. She still hasn’t looked up from her drawing.

Nick watches the blonde, too. “His cheek’s still bruised,” he informs her.

Finally, she looks up at him. There’s a smile on her face, an attempt at politeness. “Good.”

The ailing brunette, still situated on the sofa, watches the conversation with large, curious eyes. She really doesn’t know what to make of this.

“Must’ve been a hard punch,” is his next remark. An amused smile teases at the corner of his lips.

Now – Elyza smirks. “I made sure to slap him well. Angry little punk like him deserves it.”

(Alicia kind of can’t help but feel proud of the Australian for that.)

Nick does a double take at the revelation, a small exhalation in the form of laughter being released from his lungs. “That was you?” he asks, impressed. Clearly, Jonas must be some sort of pariah in Santa Maria now.

Elyza’s smirk turns into a toothy grin. She shrugs coolly and flips her pencil between her fingers. “Well, he shot Alicia. Had it coming to him, didn’t he?”

“Nice.” Nick’s grinning, too.

Alicia swears, she’s going to get whiplash with these two.

The fairly pleasant atmosphere that has descended on them is suddenly broken by the door being slammed open. Nick, Elyza and Alicia all turn their heads to spot the newcomers – and, as predicted, it’s Mikel, Lyndsey and Tobias. They’re sweaty from the heat and the sun, but Tobias wields a thick tome with a dark blue cover. Mikel looks grimly at the view in front of him, as his companions step behind him. Tobias looks eager, raring to share the news, while Lyndsey looks a bit… pale, actually.

Alicia swallows noisily. So, here it is. Her future. Probably.

As Elyza straightens up in her chair, Mikel glances at her before switching his attention back to Nick. (He doesn’t even acknowledge Alicia, not at all.) “Why are you here? Why aren’t you working?”

In his dark, Army-style clothes, with his flashing eyes and booming voice, Mikel is severe, not to be crossed. It’s a daunting sight, but Alicia can’t find it in her to be scared. Maybe it’s because he reminds him of why she’s here – which makes her angry all over again – or maybe it’s because she’s far more concerned with the contents of that books, but at the moment, he just strikes her as a petulant child.

“I wanted to find Alicia,” Nick explains. “Thought I might as well, seeing as she’s my sister.” He adds an afterthought, putting up his hands, “Oh, and – before you get too pissed, Mr Leader, Rhodes is covering my shift. Your water will be transported as normal.” His hands drop down to his side again and he looks pleased with himself.

“That was unauthorised,” Mikel argues. Still standoff-ish. Still trying to be menacing. “So _get out._ ”

Hang on – no! At the panicked look that crosses Alicia’s face for that half-second, Elyza lifts her head and commands, “He’s staying.”

The Santa Maria leader sighs. “Elyza—”

“No. He’s staying.”

The Australian’s sitting down, her legs planted firmly on the floor and her lap still occupied by her art book and pencil. Her elbows jut out, the jacket crinkling around them, while her hands curl around the edge of the seat. Her grip is loose; there’s nothing in her stance that exudes power over Mikel or anything. It’s all in the voice, all in the eyes. She pins him down to the spot with lightning in her eyes; they flash dangerously through the dark clouds in her blue sky eyes: if he moves, she’ll electrocute him. Her gravelly voice growls with the thunder, an audible threat. And he has to submit.

“Fine. You can stay. But we’ll talk,” the leader spits. (Alicia and Eyza sigh with relief.) Mikel turns to Tobias, still clutching the book. “Ready?”

Tobias’ nod is enthusiastic. He shuffles over to the two girls; all eyes are on him, curious and apprehensive.

Okay, maybe only Alicia and Elyza are apprehensive. And Mikel. She doesn’t exactly know what this will mean for Mikel – but she’s pretty sure he’s not going to like it.

The high school boy places himself down in the remaining chair, and shuffles it so it’s turned to face the brunette fully. Alicia can’t help but feel embarrassed by being the centre of attention here; Elyza’s watching her cautiously, Nick’s got his eyebrows raised from the other side of the room, and Tobias alternates between regarding her haltingly and flicking through the first pages.

“ _A study conducted… refuted by government secrecy… most scientists believe… overwhelming evidence…_ Okay, past the introduction,” he mutters. “This whole book was adapted from a scientific paper, so it’s not too easy to read. Okay.” He breathes out. “Are you two ready for this?”

Elyza sighs. (Alicia can relate.) “Get on with it, Tobias.”

He nods, swallows. “Right. Okay. So: the Concept of Reincarnation. And… Soulmates.” Before either of the two girl can really react to that, Tobias clears his throat and starts to read: “ _The problem with reincarnation is that it is entirely impossible to separate from the different concepts that are tied to it. Although many cultures across the world do in fact recognise reincarnation, their types do not correspond with the reincarnation seen through these tests; simply, they do not address the importance of dreams and phantom clues, amongst other soulclues_ – oh, I guess that means, like, soulmate clues. Anyway – _Nor do they think to link the concept of soulmates with the reincarnation that occurs. These two are inextricably linked; you cannot have one without the other. Soulmates birth reincarnation, and reincarnation allow soulmates to stay together._

“ _With both being metaphysical concepts, neither are particularly easy to pinpoint or, indeed, explain rationally and in great detail. However…_ she just keeps talking about explaining things. Hang on.” He flips through another page, eyes scanning the words before he finds the right place. “ _One theory is that the atoms in a person’s body were extremely close, or once joined with, the atoms of their soulmate’s body at the start of their existence. Considering that these atoms do in fact exist on different dimensions within the space-time continuum, they are still together in different human lives: in all past lives, their current life, and all future lives. Yet despite the natural conclusion being that these lives follow each other on the space-time continuum in a chronological order, studies find that this is not the case. (See: Johnson & Johnson, Petrov & Solokov.) The path of these atoms is entirely sporadic; the only repeating findings are that these atoms – the basis of people’s souls, in this case – are always found together in the same plane, the same time, and the same field of existence in those soulmates’ lives. This means that, if one person dies before their soulmate, their atoms could reappear in a parallel universe, but their soulmate will follow them as soon as they can._”

Alicia can barely breathe. She steals a quick glance at Elyza – the blonde looks ghost white.

Tobias hasn’t noticed. “I think I should look for – here we go: Soulclues and Their Intensity: _The nature of soulclues can vary with each soulmate they belong to, but the most common come in the form of dreams and phantom pains. The person’s previous life can, for example, be retold through dreams as soon as they meet their soulmate. Phantom pains can indicate where a wound from that past life once occurred; they last only as long as the original wound lasted, and are usually only the deepest wounds received once around their soulmate in said past life. If a person experiences the pain of dying in their past life_ – that’s you, Alicia – _then this is because they have been in the proximity of their soulmate for too long without being aware of who they are, and need to be informed of their relationship to this person. Although documented, experiencing the pain of one’s past death is extremely rare and is only found when a person has an extremely strong bond with their soulmate. Either in a past life, or in this life, they reached or will reach truly great or commendable achievements. With all hypothetical universes to be considered, there is no telling what these may be – but memories from past lives have included being the ruler of nations, or being responsible for life-changing scientific discoveries._ ” He frowns as he flicks through more pages. “I think that covers you two enough. I don’t really have a need for this book, so you can keep it if you want. There’s loads about romantic soulmates versus platonic soulmates – but I don’t think you two need to worry about that. You’re not platonic soulmates; your soulclues were too intense.”

Okay. Right. Okay.

She’s vaguely aware of the air rushing around her as she shakily breathes in and out. She’s vaguely aware of the eggshell blue room, where she is meant to be present and alert. She is meant to be grounded here, aware of other people’s presences in the room.

But everything else – it fades away to nothing. There is nothing for her to see. Nothing except the trembling Australian in front of her, eyes wide and locked onto hers.

Nothing to see except those blue, blue eyes. She knows those eyes. She knows those skies, the stars that light up in them. They lock with her green eyes, like forests, like the green leaves of the tall trees of California, and they stay there, unwilling and unable to move.

She knows those eyes – she’s gazed into them in so many different lives. As she gazes into them now.

She can barely get her head around it.

She’s looking at the love of all her lives.

Well, she thinks, a disjointed voice in the back of her head. Everything else is in meltdown. Everything else but this voice and this truth, this truth she knows will never leave her.

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're always more than welcome to talk to me in the comments! Here's a little question: were any of you expecting Nick to be in Santa Maria?


	12. drown my confusion in clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bigger chapter - 23 A4 pages in Word, if I remember correctly - so have fun!
> 
> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: I Found // Amber Run.
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria

Alicia hasn’t adjusted all that well to… everything that’s gone on.

No, screw that. She’s found this really fucking difficult to adjust to.

It’s not every day you’re told you have an honest-to-God soulmate, is it?

(God, what even _is_ her life?)

So, no, she’s not been coping well. Honestly, she feels like her autonomy over who gets to fall in love with has been snatched from her. But apparently it’s her – her eternal, actually as old as the universe self – who took that away from herself, so she only has herself to blame.

Yeah, she knows. It makes _so_ much sense, obviously.

Though – that isn’t the part that unsettles her. Sure, finding out that she is literally eternal is a little bit overwhelming. Sure, finding out that all she knew about the universe actually wasn’t a lot is enough to blow her mind. But neither of those unsettle her.

Like she’s said, it’s the whole she-has-a-person-she’s-fundamentally-in-love-with part.

Where does she start with that? _How_ does she start that conversation? “Hey, so apparently I’m meant to be absolutely enamoured with you”? “Hi, apparently I’m meant to know everything about you because according to this book, I’ve been in love with you since the dawn of time”? And with _Elyza?_ She has so many questions and not a lot of answers.

She has a feeling she isn’t going to be able to answer those questions until the universe decides it’s time for her to know. Or her soul, whatever.

So now she just lays there, awkwardly staring at the ceiling until comes into the room and they make awkward small talk.

Everything is awkward. Mind you, neither have had the “soul awakening” yet, as the book calls it, so it’s understandable if Alicia can’t _quite_ look at the blonde in the eye.

Actually, the Elyza is dealing with this better than the brunette. She seems to have fewer worries about this, mainly because she’s usually damn good at compartmentalising (see: killing walkers without so much as a flinch). In her words to Nick, “If it happens, it’ll happen.” She suspects it will really hit her when the memories come flooding back.

Which, yeah. It’s kind of hard to miss that when a whole other life is suddenly nice and cosy in your brain.

The Aussie has already had her moment of insecurity. That was as soon as Mikel had unveiled the concepts of soulmates and reincarnation; after half a minute or so of staring at each other in wonder and disbelief, the Californian had watched as the blonde excused herself from the room to “grab some air”. The brunette hadn’t moved; hadn’t wanted to. The rest of the room, apart from Nick, had made their excuses and had left, meaning the Clarks were alone to digest what had just happened.

(Lyndsey had said she’d needed to have a rest and a long talk with her girlfriend. Alicia still doesn’t know why she’s remembered that, or why it seems so important.)

Nick had immediately gone through the book, finding nothing else to do. Alicia had stared.

Eventually, she’d come out of her shell: Nick had had to start reading out little bits of information that might help her in some way – though he’d scoffed at some things and raised his eyebrows at others. She’d started responding, challenging his disbelief, confirming things the older Clark enquired about. (Whatever he thinks, she doesn’t care – that book is the ticket to freedom, and to the boat. It may be out of this world, practically, but it applies here and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take it.)

It figures, she guesses. Truth. Knowledge. She craves it – she’s been starved of it in the past. She remembers how her mom and Travis kept her in the dark about the walkers, and how she wanted, maybe more than anything, to know what was happening so she could actually _be useful._ She knows, she’s proven it, that she can take control and make the best out of situation – but she had to know what to do first. She has to be allowed to grow. Being in the middle of a very real apocalypse and still being told what to do – that’s not a situation she can always be useful in, not if she’s relegated to the back bench. She has to have a part in it – like she was with Elyza, planning their route and their objective – for it to work.

This is not a situation where she knowledge, or control. It freaks her out.

After an hour of being alone, the blonde had returned to the living room. She’d looked pale, but calmer. Not particularly changed. She’d sat down in her seat, given the younger Clark a placating nod, and had turned to Nick.

“Alright, anything else in that big book of secrets that can help us with this weird-ass predicament?”

And for Elyza, at least, that had been that.

It’s been awkward ever since.

It’s Alicia who makes it awkward, truthfully. She doesn’t know how to approach the topic, or talk to the Australian, without being painfully reminded of what _should_ happen.

Every time she look at the girl, she sees eyes that have followed her from the very beginning – blue eyes like an evening sky, alert and sparkling, a universe freed within them.

Every time the blonde sends a smile her way (it doesn’t even matter how big or small it is), Alicia knows she has seen that smile a thousand times over, and a thousand times more, and a thousand times more. And not just that smile, but others. Unique ones. Wide ones and reserved ones, confident smirks and smiles of disbelief. All of them, and thousands more, seen thousands and thousands of times. Into infinity.

( _Infinity times infinity times infinity_. Isn’t that a song? She can’t remember.)

When Elyza’s gaze is soft, she feels herself returning in kind, and she knows it is understated, it is just a glimmer of what will be. There will be much more softness, a continuation of the love they’ve already had before.

She knows this is too quick for how little she actually knows the Aussie. But at the same time, the other girl is in the same boat, battling the same thoughts – and she _can’t_ be the only one who has these raging revelations and emotions pounding at the walls of her heart.

The difference is – Elyza feels as the same things, but deals with them differently. She’s courteous whilst Alicia just stares. She holds every question she’s asking in her eyes while her expression is easy. Her affection betrays the worry she must feel. Alicia’s worry betrays her affection, and she can’t help but feel that this is how they’ve always been. Heart over head; head over heart.

Alicia is quiet. Elyza is normal. The brunette is pretty jealous of how easy it is for the blonde to compartmentalise everything.

(Then she thinks of how, or why, the blonde is so good at compartmentalising, and wonders if she should be jealous at all.)

She tried her damned hardest not to speak while Elyza carried her bridal-style up the stairs earlier, to the bedroom Mikel has granted them. ( _Bridal-style._ God help her.) Elyza was more than happy to embarrass her by saying, “Might as well get used to this, ‘Licia. Sounds like we must’ve done this a few times already.” Nick sniggered while his younger sister, mouth clamped shut in both pain and her incredible awkwardness, nearly melted into a puddle of heat on the spot. She didn’t say anything for half an hour afterwards, knowing that Elyza’s jibe was probably the truth. She was trying desperately to forget it, and, at the same time, trying desperately to remember it – because at least that way she’d actually have _some_ knowledge on the situation at hand.

(That’s an excuse. She can’t hide that from herself.)

She’s not done much else. She’s shared some food with Elyza since then – a dinner of beef jerky, seeing as it’s finally evening, and most of the food had to be given to her again after her arms gave up. They talked sparingly about the sustenance, and what the Aussie will be expected to do in the Santa Maria community. Afterwards, she answered the blonde’s question on how much more pain has faded. (Answer: none. There’s been no progression since Tobias’ first revelation.)

See? Small talk. She’s been actively avoiding the conversation because she doesn’t know how to go about it, and she’d prefer to talk about it when she has a whole lot more control over – well, everything.

So she’s stared and stared and stared. Apparently, she’s very good at staring at ceilings while important questions vie for her brain’s attention. She’s had a lot of practice today.

At least the ceiling in the bedroom is marginally more interesting than the living room one. Glow in the dark stars have been stuck to the ceiling; she has the curtains closed so the light doesn’t aggravate her eyes, and the stars shine down at her. Only a few, but enough. If she closes her eyes _just_ enough, then they resemble realistic pinpricks of light more than the cheap, stereotypical five-edged stars children were always shown.

(She never found them realistic, but she always thought they were pretty. At one point in her childhood, she was prepared to go to NASA and ask to be an astronaut the next day, if her mom let her. Some of the boys in her kindergarten class laughed at her and said that “only boys are astronauts!” They didn’t say that after she’d had words with them.

No, no, no, stop. That’s in the past. She’s not meant to be thinking like this.)

She feels like she has more of a connection to the stars now. To the universe. Obviously, she’s always been a part of it – but knowing you belong to the universe doesn’t compare, in any way, to knowing that the universe also belongs to you. She is flung out to the depths of space after every life; she traverses every plane of existence; she bends the concept of time and travels through it. The universe is hers, and she is of the universe.

She would just like to dwell on that more when she’s _not_ feeling like the living, breathing equivalent of death, thanks. And not in the walker way, either.

Alicia decides, she likes the stars, but not when they’re taunting her.

She huffs and turns her head to the side, taking in the rest of the room. She doesn’t know a thing about the family who lived here, but she’s gathered a few thoughts from her study of the rooms she’s been in. This room, in particular, is the saddest one. She’s not all that sure about what happened – maybe one of the twins died, not long before the apocalypse happened – but the bed she sits in is devoid of life or character, while the bed a little way away from her is surrounded by clues of the boy who used to sleep in it. A Doctor Who duvet cover on a bed that’s too short for her. A lamp on his bedside table decorated with stars, accompanied by candles, courtesy of Elyza and her bag. A collection of plush toys, and hard toys. A pile of school books and novels – of the Young Adult genre. This was a kid’s room, probably just entering his teenage years, that spoke of the death that surrounded the world even before the dead walked among them.

(At least, the kid had a good taste in entertainment. Sci-fi’s a pretty good genre.)

She’s long since accepted the fact that she’ll never know what happened to this family and that there’s no point wondering. She’ll never know what happened to their next-door neighbours. Or their friends, or their family. It’s just wasting energy to think about it, to think about the past. It’s just wasting energy she doesn’t have.

And maybe that’s why she’s so reluctant to learn all about her past life.

It’s the past, okay? It should stay there. It should help them, yeah, but it should stay in the past. She can’t be doing with thinking about it all the time, not like Elyza does. (Did? Does, probably.) She can’t find any comfort in that, because the truth will come to light over and over again: it has happened, and will never happen again. There’s no sweetness in that. It’s just bitter. She doesn’t need anything else to be bitter about. She’s got plenty of reason to be already.

She knows, though – this… past life thing, it’s inevitable; it’s coming. She has no control over its arrival, and she knows she can’t avoid it. The book says, according to Nick, that she’ll have to sleep before it comes to her: it’ll come to her in her dreams, and once it starts, there’s nothing she can do to stop it. She won’t be released until she’s got all the information she needs from her past life; only then will she wake up. Only then will she understand everything, and view the world in a different way.

(How is that _not_ scary?)

She already has an inkling about her past life. If it comes to her in dreams, then she knows it’s another post-apocalyptic world. (Great, because that’s _really_ what she needs when she’s trying to be with her soulmate. Death and suffering. Her soul chooses the best places to go, clearly.) She knows that her past self was a leader, a warrior, born in fire and flowers. She doesn’t know everything, but she remembers sensations – the brightness of the scarlet sash, the _clink_ of armour, the keen cry of adoring children. She remembers some things from her dream, but it’s not enough to form an understanding of a whole life from it – and she’s still not sure she wants to.

Honestly, she was hoping her phantom pain would just go away after she and Elyza were told they’re soulmates. (She was hoping that familiar unfamiliarity feeling would go, too.) But nothing’s changed, not yet, and she knows she has to go through this life-changing experience just to not be in pain again.

Why pain relief pills couldn’t have just done the trick, she doesn’t know. It would’ve saved a whole lot of trouble. She could’ve been well on her way to Port Hueneme by now. But there’s no point in treating a pain that doesn’t exist, is there?

Port Hueneme. She has to get there. The boat may not even be anywhere near the port by now, but Alicia can’t think of having any other plan. She’ll see her family if she sees them – and if not, then that’s just how this damned life is, she figures. She has to be prepared for the possibility of the latter before she fully prepares herself for the former.

(The idea of never seeing her family again makes her stomach lurch and her throat constrict. But maybe it always will, and maybe there’s nothing she can do to stop that.)

Her melancholy musings are interrupted by a sudden shape bowling through the doorway and onto the other bed. Finally, it stops moving so quickly so the brunette can see what it is: it’s Elyza, face down on the bed, huffing disgruntledly. As amusing as the sight is, it confuses Alicia.

“Elyza?”

The Aussie’s head shoots up, seemingly remembering where she is. She chirps a, “G’day,” and climbs off the bed, before producing her left hand, the hand that Alicia didn’t see. In it is a water bottle; the blonde is already removing the lid. “Brought this for you. Want some?”

Alicia nods, only just noticing how parched her throat has become yet again (she’s not long had dinner though – it must be the phantom pain). Elyza smoothly sits down on the edge of the other girl’s bed as the Californian takes the bottle and drinks. Gently, gently. Alicia takes it all, gratefully, until she’s finished. Silently, but satisfied, she hands the bottle back to the blonde.

“Good swallowing technique,” Elyza grins as she screws the lid onto the bottle.

She may be in a hell of a lot of pain, but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the Australian’s innuendos. Scandalised, she stares wide-eyed at her companion as her cheeks flare bright red, before going to move her hand so she can slap her. But her arm isn’t strong enough to inflict a good enough slap, so she settles on a, “For God’s sake, Elyza,” as well.

Elyza cackles gleefully as she puts the water bottle on the bedside table. It’s in that sound that the brunette realises – they’re finally okay again.

(Of course an innuendo would be the thing to help her realise that. _Of course._ She shouldn’t have expected anything less.

She can still feel herself blushing.)

“You love it, really,” Elyza winks at her. She settles back in her position on Alicia’s bed and clears her throat. “So, Mikel’s been trying to integrate me into life in Santa Maria. Jobs and stuff, y’know. That’s why I was downstairs for most of the evening.”

Alicia nods. The Aussie gets up to rummage in the backpack at the foot of her bed, fetching matches for the candles on the bedside tables.

“When will you work?” the brunette asks. There’s something in her that is fully against the idea of the other girl settling down in Santa Maria, but she pushes on anyway.

“Not today, or tomorrow,” the Australian supplies, striking a match and lighting the candles closest to Alicia. “Mikel said there’s no use in putting me on fetching water this late in the day, and he understands you and I’ve got unfinished business to get to the bottom of. He knows about the sleeping shit. He’s now just banking on both of us falling asleep soon so we can get all the remembering out the way.” She moves onto her won bedside table; heaves a sigh. “Also, I think he’s just not wanting to be around me when we both _do_ realise our undying love for each other. He said it was hard enough hearing that we were soulmates.”

The Californian happily skips over the undying love part and snorts. “His fault for falling in love with a lesbian, then.”

Elyza chuckles. “Yeah, don’t know how he forgot that fact.”

The candles flicker, low light dancing across the room. Alicia’s thankful for them; they make her heart glow with the light they produce.

The Aussie stows the matches away and puts the backpack under her bed, away from prying eyes. She’s not happy with the idea of Mikel going through her belongings at all – they both know he’ll confiscate anything he might see as dangerous or unnecessary, and they both know they’ve got weapons and the like that would infuriate him. It’s understandable, but inconvenient; the blonde had to wait an hour just to collect the other girl’s sword, and even that was a risky decision. Mikel could’ve caught her at any moment, seeing as he breezes through the place like a ghost. Or, worse: he could’ve already found the sword and caught Elyza red-handed trying to find it.

Neither of those happened, thank God. Her sword’s safely under her own bed now. She’d been in a mood for _days_ otherwise.

(She imagines Elyza’s playful retort to that would be, “Like you aren’t already?” She also thinks she needs to stop thinking about Elyza so much.

Though, that’s kind of impossible now they know they’re soulmates.)

“He doesn’t want me to be off long,” the blonde notes when she returns to her position on the Californian’s bed. “I can see why. He hasn’t read the book, so he doesn’t know how much happens. He just knows sleep triggers it.”

Alicia doesn’t say anything, just swallows. Right, they’re having _that_ conversation now. This is going to be fun. She can’t see much of the blonde in the low light, but the candles are bright enough to shine on Elyza’s face – just enough to see scars, scratches, scabs. Those blue eyes sparkle, stars coming out to shine at the end of the day, and there’s caution in them. Waiting for the wrong words. It’s hidden behind the Australian’s trademark smile, but the brunette can detect it. She knows her soulmate, knows how she works. And it’s strange, how she’s gone from wondering why she responds to Elyza as much as she does, to understanding why and resigning herself to it. All in a few hours.

She’s gone from not expecting at all, to not expecting anything less.

(This is how she knows Elyza, she thinks. Not in trivia about her life – not in her favourite book as a child, or how old her mom was. No – she knows Elyza in the way she snarls at the disconcerting sound of approaching walkers, and the way the slightest twitch of her mouth can tell Alicia exactly how she’s feeling. She knows when the smile is too wide and when she’s viewing the world as an artist, not a participant. She knows the way to get to the Aussie’s heart is to talk about her trusty truck, and why her Glock and rifle are her favourite weapons.

Elyza’s past life probably wasn’t like that. It wouldn’t have had the tell-tale signs the Californian knows, signs unique to Elyza. It would’ve been different. It would’ve been… other. But this is what she has with Elyza, not a past life, and she’s determined not to let go of it.)

“He should read it,” the brunette notes. “Then he won’t get so confused about something that’s not his.”

The blonde’s head bobs up at her words, her lips peeling away in a smirk to show her teeth. “Why, is that a hint of jealousy I detect?”

Alicia rolls her eyes. “Please.” It’s not much of an answer, but it’ll do.

The other girl places a hand over her heart, the jovial tone never leaving her Australian twang. “Don’t act like that’s impossible, ‘Licia. Many have fallen for my generous looks and charm. I reckon the number of adoring devotees must be in the thirties. I’m irresistible.”

The Californian snorts, because it’s so like to Elyza to blow her own trumpet. But if there’s truth in those words… she wouldn’t be surprised. She kind of does have a point.

Elyza’s eyes get softer – and, oh no. “Apparently I literally _am_ irresistible. To you, at least. Who woulda thought?” the blonde muses.

Alicia blushes and sinks further down into the bed. She doesn’t want this conversation. She yawns (which frustrates her) and says, “The universe did, obviously,” with all of the fire and temper she can muster, but it comes out meeker than it should, and oh, of course the blonde notices, of course.

There are a few seconds where their eyes lock – no words, no words. Just reading each other, knowing the other is reading them, and the brunette dips into being half-awake without really realising – and then Elyza murmurs, “It’s not so scary, ‘Licia. Nothing to worry about. Whatever happens, we’re still ourselves.” The Australian pauses, breathes in – “I mean, if the universe chose it for us, it must be something good, right?”

(This topic – it must fascinate Elyza, if not worry her. She must have _some_ trepidation about it, some curiosity, some wonder. Alicia can’t be the only one.)

“Do you really believe that?” the brunette questions, eyes lidded. The question came out of her mouth before she could really consider it; it made her vulnerable, but she wants to know – even if _she_ doesn’t, then Elyza might believe it. It will help, if nothing else.

God, she really is tired. She’s _exhausted._ But she doesn’t want to sleep. She knows what will happen.

The Australian smirks, countering lightly, “D’you think I’d be here if I didn’t?” She finds an answer in the brunette’s silence; her smirk widens before she wrestles it into a more subdued, reassuring smile. “You should sleep. You look like death.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” the Californian mumbles through a yawn, causing Elyza to yawn herself. “So should you, Elyza. How much sleep have _you_ had?”

The blonde purses her lips – she’s got a goal in mind, and she knows Alicia knows it. “More than you,” is her reply, followed by, “Seriously, ‘Licia. If you sleep first, you’ll heal faster. No more pain, lots of memories to gain. And that means we’ll see the back of Major Misery in no time. It’s a win-win situation.”

Alicia wants to refuse, wants to fold her arms and harrumph – she really does – but she is so, so tired and she knows she’s fighting a losing battle. She scowls at the blonde blur in front of her eyes, but it doesn’t look half as dangerous as it should when she snuggles deeper in the duvet just to change her position. _She_ doesn’t look half as dangerous as she should when Elyza gently plants a calloused hand on the side of Alicia’s face, the blur becoming more defined and everything becoming less lucid. Darker, darker, darker.

“Let go, Triple B.”

She resents being called by that nickname. But she cannot be bothered to say that. She can’t be bothered to do anything at all, just to slip downwards.

And, still – before she can really prepare herself for it, she tumbles down, down, down.

To a slumber. Down, down.

To a dark light. Down.

To truth.

And it comes to her.

It’s like coating her body in light, feeling her skin glow with life and warmth and everything good she ever knew. It’s like dipping headfirst into a nebula – floating around ever so peacefully, as weightless as the vibrant clouds of gas surrounding her. It’s like the dawn of a new day on a familiar planet, putting everything before her in a fresh perspective. It’s old and new, familiar and unfamiliar, and it’s beautiful, it’s the most beautiful feeling Alicia’s ever felt. She is light, she is rebirth, and she is ready, she will face the damned world with a grin on her face if she’s able to keep feeling like this.

And then – it stops. And she hurtles, down through the blackness, into something else entirely.

Then it’s like feeling the heat of the Sun scorch her skin as it explodes, too close for safety or for comfort. Then it’s like spinning along with an impossibly dense and impossibly active neutron star, tilting and twirling and trapped, trapped, in this impenetrable remnant of death. Then it’s like the collision of two worlds, molten rock crashing into each other, her perspective doused with fire and ash, and she is still the ash, it covers everything. And how is she not screaming in her sleep, how is she not awake? How is she still _alive?_ Oh, God, she’s so thankful she’s still alive.

And then – it stops. And she is at the bottom of a lake, looking up, helpless and defeated, as everything comes to her.

All Lexa was. All she ever was. The first, earliest memory plays behind her eyes in astonishing detail, and the water is trickling into the bottom of the lake. Alicia is still helpless, but her eyes are wide in wonder at the life she’s watching transform before her eyes.

The forested background – Lexa was never too far from the familiar sight of lush evergreen trees, swaying in the wind that whips around her. Even living the life she did, whisked away from her parents from an early age at the discovery of her black blood, whisked away from all she’d ever known into the hustling, bustling, lively city of Polis – the trees were never very far away. She found comfort in their authoritative stance, protective of the Grounders who used them for fire and cherished their generosity.

(All these memories, all this information. Alicia can barely keep up.)

Gravel underneath her feet – and her boots, replaced often as she grew. The tiles sapping the warmth from her feet in the Polis tower, and the smooth porcelain of the baths she enjoyed as handmaidens pandered to her every need.

Intricate braids in her long, wild hair, and outfit upon outfit of traditional dress, her warrior armour, the glint of steel as it caught the sun. Every sword she received was crafted by hand by Polis’ expert swordsmith, a gentle man with almost a keener eye than herself. She loved those swords, how easily they glided through the air, how easily they cut into her enemies in the almost countless battles she soldiered through.

Flashes of eyes – their colours radiant, blossoming, brilliant – as she met with a swarming body of people, her subjects, her reasons for fighting. Most hopeful, adoring, some distrusting. The barely concealed suspicion of the Azgedakru – it infuriated Lexa, but she never let it show.

The burden of death, carved into her skin and moulded perfectly to weigh down her shoulders. The burden of _love_ – lesson after disapproving lesson from Titus, her archive of teachings and her downfall. Costia’s head as she held it in her shaking hands; the rattle of her breath as the horror and the aching despair settled in with full force for the first time. To be a Commander is to be alone. How many times had she repeated that?

(Alicia remembers her dream – her dream of Costia, and she aches with that force, too.)

The burgeoning hope Clarke gave Lexa – the infatuation, the wonder, the hope, the hope, the love. How Clarke defied everything, and defied everything _for her_. How Clarke was, how she moved, how she spoke, how bright she burned. Lexa got caught up in her orbit, a star caught in the orbit of a twin star – both equal, both magnificent, both controllers. How incredible a sight they must have been. Lexa thought them incredible.

(Alicia can’t detect any signs of regret when it comes to Lexa’s decision to finally be with Clarke. No regret in loving her. Remorse, for what happened to them, both before the death at the Mountain, and for the death itself. But no regret. Clarke, Alicia knows, made Lexa feel alive.)

The memories don’t increase in speed, like they did when Alicia tried to sleep the last few times, but they are re-enacted vividly. Alicia wants to reach out and put her hands on the different surfaces, feel the cool metal and her bumpy, braided hair, and the soft cheek of Clarke as they kiss, that glorious kiss before Clarke led her to the bed. She wants to, but she can’t; these are, but also _aren’t_ , hers. She has to watch. She has to learn who Lexa was.

Most memories are tinged with grey – the grey that Lexa felt deep within her, from being responsible for so much death, for _so much_. From an impossibly young age, she was revered on the condition of her excellence as leader. From an impossibly young age, she matured and became grave, became fierce, and lost her innocence, because of vast expectations. It was always with her; the input of the previous Commanders, from the Commander’s chip, only served to imprint that even more. Alicia can’t help but feel sorry for Lexa: she was robbed of the chance to mature naturally – she became what others wanted before she had a chance to make those decisions for herself.

She can’t help but feel sorry and feel scared at the same time. Everything – _everything_ – falls into place for her now, and everything makes sense. Her past life, the lingering feelings of familiar unfamiliarity: everything Lexa ever was, ever hoped, ever dreamed – they are there for Alicia to see now.  They are there for Alicia to know. To learn from. And her connection with Clarke – Elyza – makes so much sense. There’s a bond between them that draws them to each other, stronger than either could imagine. Elyza is inevitable, just as Clarke was for Lexa. It’s impossible for Alicia to be convinced of anything else.

But it’s _so much_. There’s a whole life playing right before her eyes, and she can’t take it all in. Where does she start? What does she take from it?

Where does she begin?

(Oh, with waking up. Right.)

When her eyes open again, she knows everything has changed.

And she isn’t one of those painfully optimistic and pompous poetic types. If she were – the ones who think everything is beautiful, the ones who _breathe_ metaphors and talk in tongues and rules of three – she might call it an orchestra. This is the concert in her name, and they are playing in a crescendo for her.

The phantom pains: they are the lights blinking into life, the musicians in the spotlight.

The dreams: they are the introductory chord, the orchestra warming up in one ceremonious, harmonious note. Collective, cohesive. Reassuring. ( _Reassuring!_ )

And the reveal, the first note, the perfect pitch in perfect synchronisation. The crowd goes wild.

And, here’s the thing: Alicia gets that state of mind. She never really cared about the literature and writing classes she had in school – she only cared about the tests – but she can whip up a damn good observation and analysis, and she knows how to use her words. It’s just, she doesn’t care that much.

(God, how is she still thinking about _school_ now?)

But she’s not optimistic to a fault. She’s a realist. There’s nothing beautiful about this; if anything, it would be discordant. It wouldn’t be cohesive: it’s like there are two parts playing against each other, desperately struggling to be the loudest.

If anything, it would clash. When the two parts collide, ringing thuds and high-pitched scrapes fill the air.

If anything, there would be no beginning, no ending, only a struggle.

The crowd wouldn’t understand. Would never understand. The only person who might understand is Elyza, but even now there’s a divide between them, and Alicia wants her and wants to _not_ want her, and everything is so confusing and disconcerting.

No – if anything, there’s chatter and screams and sobbed goodbyes and walkers being shot in the head and it is too much. She’s lost herself in the noise.

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

(How’s that for creative? Those pompous poetic types can stick it.)

The first thing that Alicia notices is the blonde carefully watching her from the other bed. Nothing on her face except curiosity and tired eyes, along with the outlines of scars, scratches and scabs, barely visible by candlelight only. It is achingly familiar, in more ways than one, and she has to blink a few times: she can’t seem to see the Aussie as _only_ Elyza; the image of Clarke (beautiful, breath-taking, headstrong, dangerous Clarke) dominates the brunette’s head. It’s so unsettling; she, Alicia, has never met Clarke in her life, and she only knows Elyza – yet those soft blue eyes remind her of what Lexa saw, the girl she loved, and her heart pounds for Clarke. Yearns for her.

And – no! Alicia is not Lexa. Elyza is not Clarke. _Alicia is not Lexa._

Alicia is not Lexa. She’s decided: they’re separate. They shouldn’t touch.

When she looks at Elyza again, she sees the Australian who calls her “Triple B”, the blonde who’s more likely to slap a person than befriend them. Same blue eyes, but different people. Clarke lived a dangerous life, too, but it wasn’t this one.

There’s another link, though. Both Clarke and Elyza loved and lost. It’s evident in the age in Elyza’s eyes. Then again – isn’t that always the case?

That thought makes the Californian think of Lexa’s death. She wants to throw up from the horror she knows she’ll always feel because of it.

“’Licia?” the blonde’s _voice_ , even, is cautious. Deep, raspy, and the brunette’s ears eagerly eat that sound up, but still careful. The Aussie’s eyes, still bracketed by charcoal war paint, switch between Alicia’s face and the duvet – it’s completely off her body, pushed subconsciously down to the bottom of the bed through all her fervour. (Damn. The brunette must really have moved a lot in her sleep.) Locking onto Alicia again, tenderness in those irises, a gentler palette of blue. Maybe it comes from a need to reassure Alicia. But it can’t hide that worry; the darker hues, the darkening evening sky.

And the Californian gives her credit for that nervousness. It’s kind of a big ass deal, and the other girl, understandably, will want to know how to act around her.

But Alicia doesn’t know how to act around _herself_. Again, how can you go from being a normal person to finding out you have a soulmate, and remembering your past life, in the space of a few hours – and _not_ feel a little thrown by that? How can anyone accept that sort of thing with ease? Or even at all? She wishes there was a handbook for this. No, actually; she wishes she didn’t have to go through this in the first place.

All that Alicia gives Elyza is a shaky exhalation of breath – and suddenly the blonde is back to where she was before, perching on the side of the brunette’s bed with an intense look in her eyes.

(She looks exhausted. Bags around her eyes. The candles have been joined by a few empty energy drink cans since Alicia was last awake, and a section of her brain wonders _how_ Elyza managed to find them, while the rest of it fixates wonderingly on Elyza – Clarke – herself.)

The movement is so sudden that it sends the brunette spinning away from control and back to the place she’s desperately been trying to avoid – a place where she can’t differentiate between the present and the past; Clarke and Elyza collide, painfully for Alicia, and she hates feeling so vulnerable, she is so overwhelmed and she hates it.

Clarke is shockingly beautiful. All fire and empathy and understanding, chiselled into that square jaw and the soft curves of her face, and coursing through sun-kissed golden locks. No – _was_. That’s a past life. A different life. From a future time, apparently, and probably from a different, parallel universe, but Clarke’s essence is here, _she’s here_ , and, God, she is incredi— _no,_ Alicia.

This is Elyza. Equally as incredible, but probably more infuriating. In her own special way, of course.

(This is fucking terrifying. She never thought that, one day, she would know too much of the truth. Though she never believed it would happen, knowing too much has become detrimental to her.)

“Alicia, you okay? ‘Cause you were thrashing about a fair amount in your bed. And you look… pretty out of it,” the blonde whispers. Steadily, and deliberately. There’s something reassuring about the Aussie’s voice, but as soon as Alicia recognises that, it makes her panic increase. Elyza’s brows furrows even more. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I’m gonna try to help.”

The Californian can’t look at those blue, blue eyes without seeing Clarke, and she knows Lexa is battling to take over. It feels like that. Cl-Elyza’s presence only seems to worsen that effect; she can’t breathe, and she needs to find Alicia again.

(Crashing cymbals and high-pitched scraping. Nothing works; nothing is in harmony.

Actually – maybe she does need to revise her statement on not being one of the poetic types.)

Her breathing becomes more desperate. The candlelight becomes more of a blur. She feels dizzy, and her pain is still uncomfortably prevalent. And _she cannot breathe in Elyza’s company._

She can’t get swallowed up by this. She can’t let this happen.

Miraculously, she manages to gasp, “Space,” at the blonde.

Luckily, Elyza understands what Alicia means after a second or two of puzzled staring. But then she stands up, and nods seriously but sympathetically at the panicking brunette. (She knows Alicia. She knows Alicia in her behaviour, her thoughts, all the things she never says.) She links one hand in the Californian’s, squeezes, and then leaves without a word. Alicia exhales deeply as soon as the door is closed, because it’s marginally easier to breathe, and because the Australian understands. She understands how hard this is for the Californian. Thank God; it’d be super awkward if this was entirely one-sided.

Now she thinks about it, she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or cry.

(She thinks again of the bullet that shredded Lexa’s skin, her muscles, her abdomen – and decides that dry heaving should definitely be considered for that list, too.)

But she’s cried enough to last seven lifetimes, in her opinion, and she’s not a fan of creating even more drama than she needs to by screaming. (Dry heaving doesn’t sound particularly pleasant, either.) So she just sits there, staring numbly at the wall in front of her, committing every detail of the painted astronaut on a planetary exploration on the wall to memory. Idly, she wonders if Nick is going to come up to see her now she’s upstairs and out of the way. Idly, she wonders when Elyza is going to subject herself to this shitty revelation too.

She sits there, duvet returning to laying above her chest, and thinks until her head hurts (which means it hurts a _hell_ of a lot, thanks to her body still re-enacting Lexa’s death and all). She sits there thinking, while hours pass and the outside world returns from the pitch black of night to welcome brilliant, brushing sun, and the feel of death and ash permeate more strongly than ever around her.

She sits, and she thinks, but she doesn’t become any more accustomed to the situation than she was before.

She knows these things:

One – in her previous life, she was _Heda Leksa kom Trikru_ , a fierce, ruthless and caring Commander of her people.

Two – Elyza is her soulmate. She was Clarke in her previous life, and though neither Clarke nor Lexa knew of soulmates, they were inevitable for each other, and their love was the most intense beauty Lexa had ever had the pleasure of dying for.

Three – Alicia and Lexa are very, very different people. Alicia is not the leader of a post-apocalyptic race. She does not live in Polis tower, and was not taught from a young age how to govern a whole people.

Four – no matter how much she tries to separate Lexa from Alicia, the warrior leader creeps back up to confuse and unsettle her even more. There’s no hiding from that life – she’s always there.

Five – because of Lexa’s presence, Alicia no longer knows who she is. She feels like she doesn’t have an identity; Lexa’s presence has erased her own.

The last point – it’s mainly because instead of clearing things up, it’s given the brunette so many questions. At what point does Lexa end and Alicia start? What does she _do_ with this knowledge? Does she go back into her behaviours as Lexa, or does she cling desperately onto what she is as Alicia? And – what does she say to others? How does she talk to Elyza – before the blonde remembers everything, and after?

How the fuck can she _cope_ with this, all the time?

(The pain disappears from the bottom halves of her legs; like being drained of blood, they recede up her knees, but she barely notices it when it happens. It’s only an hour later that she does, and her first thought is not how nice it is for her legs to not throb so much, or why it’s happening in the first place; no, her first thought is that she’ll have a damn high pain threshold in the future, from surviving this.)

The sun climbs up into the sky, and the curtains shield most of the light away from her. The wax of the candles withdraw, into the pot it’s been placed in. Shadows move, but they are faint in the faint daylight. Time passes, and the brunette still doesn’t know what to do with herself.

She hears movement from downstairs – Mikel with Lyndsey, Mary and Elyza, she eventually figures out from the different voices and the different names being tossed around. They’re probably talking about the soulmate situation, right? Maybe they know it too: Lyndsey in particular looked a bit pasty when Mikel’s group returned from the librar—

Oh, _God_ , she thinks, Lexa’s memories surfacing once more to the forefront of her mind. She’s Raven. Lyndsey was Raven in their previous life. Considering their… differences back then, Alicia questions how the hell they’re going to have that conversation now. Especially when Alicia doesn’t know what to do with herself.

(How does she address her soulmate? Elyza? Clarke? Something else entirely? Should they talk about their past lives or ignore them completely?

What does this mean for Alicia’s dreams and hopes and fears, versus what Lexa’s were?

How does she talk to her mom, to Nick, when they are both her family… and, _not?_

Is there even any point in looking for her family, when she knows that they won’t understand, and won’t come into contact with this side of her?)

She knows she’s being irrational – but this was bound to produce an extreme reaction anyway. This isn’t a usual situation: this is a marrying of her past and present, in the most invasively physical way possible, and it does not sit well with what she’s trying to achieve, or who she’s trying to be. Can she be blamed, really, when it throws everything into question?

She thinks – she didn’t react like this to the end of the world. Not to the same extent. It’s hard as hell, living in a walker apocalypse, but did she mope like this? No, she hurt, sure, but she also got through it and ran.

It’s not like she can move without falling over or anything, though. Her body is still too weak – still too tied to Lexa – to let her do that. So she has nothing to do but sit in bed and mull over her circumstances.

She wants to rebel against it, to refuse to consider Lexa, but she forces herself to sort through the warrior leader’s memories, all forested around the edges and tinged with grey as they are. She doesn’t know what she’s trying to achieve from it – honestly, it’s just something to do – but she finds herself recognising Lexa’s characteristics and comparing them with her own, just to reassure herself of their differences, their separation. She goes through every memory, gets better at identifying who’s is who’s (Alicia’s are clearer; Lexa’s have a more translucent feel to them) and ensures the distance between herself and Lexa in her mind.

It’s clearer now: Alicia is not Lexa. And Elyza is not Clarke. They are _different._ They are different.

(Maybe, if she keeps telling herself that, she’ll believe it.)

Her thoughts are interrupted all of a sudden by Elyza bursting through the door. Alicia jumps in her position in bed and looks expectantly at the other girl for an explanation of the frankly rude interruption – but she gets nothing. Clearly, the Australian is dead on her feet.

(She frowns to herself. That saying is pretty obsolete now, seeing as it’s literally – and horrifyingly – come true.)

Alicia tries to speak – clears her throat when she feels it complain against being used after so long – but the blonde doesn’t even _look_ at her. She just slams down a bowl of newly-roasted soup for Alicia on the bedside table and doesn’t even bother to take her boots off before she collapses like a dead weight on her own bed. She doesn’t get back up, doesn’t even move.

(The energy drinks must have finally worn off, then.)

Slightly bewildered, and slightly thrown off by Elyza’s presence, Alicia just stares. No – watches. _Finally_ , she won’t be the only one to go through this process, to know how it feels to hurt over people who _aren’t_ you, people who are already dead.

The Californian wonders what it looked like for Elyza. How removed she must have been from the nebula, the morning light. The explosion, the death and ash. She wouldn’t know what was happening.

Until now.

Elyza suddenly writhes in her sleep; it’s happening. Alicia bundles the duvet in her fists, her arms down by the side of her legs. Everything in her is crying out to help and comfort her. But she holds herself back. There is nothing to help. There are only watching and learning.

(She sounds so much like Lexa when she thinks that, and she’s scared by that.)

The writing stops. Dirt falls from the Aussie’s boots to the navy blue carpet. The brunette can see Elyza’s sunglasses poking out of her bag.

She realises that this is going to last for hours; she’s just going to be watching for blonde for hours if she keeps staring like this. And while that’s not… entirely a bad idea, she has to watch Elyza from an angle and her neck is going to ache even _more_ if she doesn’t turn it enough. Also, looking at the Australian sometimes makes it harder to breathe, and this whole calamity had drilled a newfound appreciation for breathing and generally being alive into her.

So she watches, but only when she needs to – when the blonde is moving about and whining quietly in distress. And it hurts – it _physically_ hurts – to not be there for Elyza when she whimpers like that, but it also hurts Alicia to be around her, currently, and she kind of can’t move towards the other girl anyway. It just has to be sat out with maximum endurance. She’d go to sleep, too, but, miraculously, she doesn’t actually feel tired anymore, and she doesn’t think she _could_ sleep, not when her soulmate is going through what she is.

She wants to know about Clarke. All that Lexa never got to see. She wants to know more of what made the Sky girl so… enrapturing to Lexa. Even without the devotion she discovers in Lexa’s memories, it’s not hard to see _why_ Lexa felt like that – despite being separate, Elyza and Clarke share the same face, same soul. If Alicia is so caught up in the blonde as she is (she can’t even _begin_ to deny that her feelings for the Australian run deeper than just attraction), then she can understand why Lexa melted under that smouldering gaze, after what felt like a lifetime just waiting for Clarke, waiting and hoping against hope for just some reciprocation.

In a different way to her curiosity about Clarke, Alicia wants to know about Elyza.

She’s curious as to how Elyza will react to this – will she need to be alone, like Alicia did? Maybe. It’s a lot to get your head around, and seeing – again – the _literal love of all your lives_ absolutely does not help. At all. But she doesn’t think the blonde will run and hide like Alicia did. (Mentally. She would have done that if she was physically able to, but, again, debilitating phantom pains and all.) She’s more equipped, more steady, in her emotions than Alicia is. Not prone to teenage angst, but real, raw suffering, and a stoicism that somehow shows through half-shapen grins and mastery of weapons.

Elyza is an unusual woman, but she suits this life, and she’s more than prepared to go through something like this.

She’s good at surviving; she’s got a grip on that. Alicia? Well, she’s getting there.

The Californian doesn’t know what time it is, but she figures it’s noon by now. Elyza stopped writhing in her sleep half an hour ago, and Alicia’s gaze has transferred to the candles. (She _knew_ she had a weird affinity for candles for a reason.) Her eyes are sore from staring at the light too long (she’d completely zoned out for five minutes before realising she was probably burning her eye sockets by gazing at the slit of light at the window), so she closes them and rolls her neck, feeling the bones click. Her body whines at her for being so irresponsible, but she’s finding it hard to care about that. Her world has narrowed down completely to a few simple things: caring for the blonde, and getting out of here.

Her body’s in no position to complain anyway – not when it’s giving all it has in making her miserable with pain.

A few noises to her right, and her head is turned towards Elyza in a moment. The Australian stirs as she wakes up, soft noises escaping in the still air of the room. (Alicia’s heart aches at the sounds.) Elyza didn’t throw the covers over her when she fell asleep, but she’s still managed to mess them up – it was a very active sleep – and she finds herself eating a mouthful of gold hair when her eyes slowly blink open.

It takes her a couple of seconds before everything comes back to her. The brunette’s heart stops. Elyza goes from gazing up at her with wonder in her eyes (Alicia should _not_ feel as accomplished as she does because of that fact) – to sitting up so suddenly that the Californian almost misses the action.

They stare at each other.

Again, everything has changed. Two orchestras, discordant. Harmonies swim underneath the piece, and somehow, they make it fit.

Those blue, blue eyes – _the love of all her lives_ – are wide with shock. It’s not just Elyza there anymore: the clouds that have settled rumble with Clarke’s experience – one forged in death and hope, like Lexa’s was. But everything else in those irises are as clear as day. Elyza knows, she feels.

Clarke loves Lexa. And Elyza are Alicia are left to be strung along.

“Lexa,” the Australian blurts suddenly, and Alicia jumps at the sound. She wasn’t expecting that. Then Cl-Elyza takes in Alicia’s appearance – the duvet, the flannel around her shoulders, the grime and the added war paint. And it clicks for the blonde. She is not Lexa.

Elyza swings her legs round to the floor and stands up, and is gone in a flash.

And Alicia is, once again, left bewildered.

Right. Okay.

Right.

She goes back to watching the astronaut on the wall, barely making a sound. This time, though, only one question circulates in her head, pounding at the walls and never fading away.

How the _hell_ is she going to talk to Elyza now?

The prospect – once the blonde returns, that is – is suddenly very real and very close. And she overthinks, of course she does. She overthinks until there’s no other way to think about it, and then she overthinks some more. She imagines a variety of different scenarios where Elyza is _supremely_ awkward with her and doesn’t want to know her.

Those are the worst scenarios. It scares her – actually _scares_ her – that that, somehow, might be the case. The idea of not having Elyza around is one of the worst ideas she’s ever come across.

It’s so strange how she’s gone from scowling at the blonde to valuing her over… pretty much anything. And it’s been – what – she counts the sun rises in her head – a week at most? God. They really do take the lesbian U-haul joke to the extreme.

(And yes, she _has_ heard of that joke. It’s a perk of having progressive friends. She was set up for the LGBT life even if she didn’t realise it.

Actually, that’s become much more of an understatement than she anticipated.)

For all her overthinking, she _still_ feels like she hasn’t had time enough to prepare for seeing Elyza again, despite their next encounter being a couple of hours after they exit. Alicia was happy enough on her own – getting the soup was a bit of a struggle but she got there, and, fuck, it was good – if you don’t take the overthinking into account; now she doesn’t know how to conduct herself in front of the blonde.

The blonde who is currently sat on the edge of her bed, frowning quietly at the Californian’s neck as both try to figure out what to say. Alicia will be damned if she’s going to speak first, though.

“So, in order to deal with what just happened in my sleep, I went out to help the residents with guarding the city and sliced an impressive amount of walkers in the face,” Elyza starts. “How has your day been?”

It’s then that the blonde looks at her – blue, blue eyes, yearning and expressive, even when she’s trying to school her expression into something neutral. Alicia can see through any impressions. She knows Elyza can guess exactly what she’s thinking just by her face, too.

“Um,” the brunette manages to produce. Which, great start, seriously. Not awkward at all.

It makes Elyza smile, though, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Eloquent,” the Australian deadpans sneakily. Through a toothy smile, she notes, “Y’know, for a woman that was once a great warrior leader of nations, you’re not striking me as the most articulate person right now.” The smile that had started appearing on Alicia’s face promptly disappears again. In reaction, Elyza pushes on. “Tell me about her. We’ll do a life story each.”

The brunette scowls – because, really? That’s kind of what she wanted to _avoid_ doing. But the Australian looks eager, those soft, full eyes pulling at all of Alicia’s heartstrings. And, God, she can’t resist.

She tells the other girl, because what else is there to do, really? She tells Elyza of Lexa, the gentle warrior, the fierce commander and the subject of affection and suspicion. She tells Elyza how Lexa grew up, from a humble background to being thrust into the life of a Nightblood, making her way to the top through skill and – crucially – courage. She talks of her first years as Commander, how much pressure and death weighed on her shoulders, and how she rose and rose and fended off every doubt and grab for power people attempted to make a reality. She talks of Lexa’s lifework, but also her life. She knows Clarke would want to hear. She knows Clarke would want to hear everything.

Elyza looks entranced. And she gets that. But the blonde clears her throat and returns in kind, talking about Clarke, about her life on the Ark, about things Lexa never, ever got to hear about in her position. She sees Clarke in a different way to Lexa – not shaped by politics or the suspicion that permeated their beginnings, but she sees _just_ Clarke, and all of the beautiful, broken aspirations that came with her.

Clarke was never _just_ anything.

(Alicia’s cheeks warm when she remembers Elyza saying that about _her_.)

They sit like that for a long time; time melts away and so do their worries. They tell each other the memories Clarke never got to tell Lexa, and Lexa never got to tell Clarke – and the Californian feels like they’re doing good, in a way, gifting to each other what never got to be gifted. They’re doing a service for their past lives, even though they’re long dead and not particularly relevant to this life.

Everything melts away, and she feels herself melt away, too: she’s stripped of everything but _Clarke and Lexa_ , and steadily, she becomes Lexa – she adopts the behaviour, the thought patterns, the identity. She sits up straighter and talks more formally, and Elyza’s accent slips from Australian to American a few times.

She _loves_ it. It’s so easy.

Every syllable is satisfying, and pure, and there is hope attached to every word Clarke says. Lexa loves it, the way she speaks so freely. She loves _her._ More than she can hope to fully articulate.

It’s when she catches herself thinking like this that Alicia realises what’s happening – all of a sudden, she cuts her sentence off and recedes back into herself, scowling severely at herself for letting Lexa take over so much as she slumps down in the bed. She is Alicia again, and Elyza is still Clarke, who hasn’t realised yet and watches cautiously at the Californian’s scowling form, before remembering herself and blinking a couple of times.

Alicia still scowls. (It feels like a very Alicia thing to do. It’s reassuring.)

Elyza clears her throat. “Shit, that was weird,” she notes, Australian accent fully back in force. “Was I – Did I go back into Clarke then? Sweet as.”

The chipper Australian undulation in her voice and foreign slang also reassures the brunette, but she can’t understand how _calm_ Elyza is about all this. How she just readily accepts the fact that she became a totally different person them. How they both did.

She fixes the blonde with an extremely puzzled – and, admittedly, vulnerable – look.

Elyza immediately lapses into seriousness. “You don’t like it?”

The Californian offers the Aussie all the silence she needs.

“Is it not, like, interesting to you? Or just scary?”

Alicia shakes her head. (That _definitely_ doesn’t hurt as much as before. That’s good news.) “It’s interesting. It’s just – I don’t know how… I don’t know who I am. Because of it. I’m not just Alicia Clark anymore.”

“You never were. I stand by that: you were never _just_ anything. And this is just another way to prove it!” the Aussie beams.

The brunette has not been persuaded.

“Stubborn,” Elyza snorts to herself, but affectionately. She turns her head, watching the candles that are still burning after all this time, and then fixes her gaze on the Californian. “You know my problem has been with letting go of the past. And you’d think having knowledge of a past life would really fuck that progress up, right? But it hasn’t, ‘Licia, not at all. It’s _helped._ Clarke and I, we’re not that different, which you’d expect. And that helped, because she tried to push ahead in the present too. But she _learned_ from her past, she let go of it and learned from it. She… she suffered a hell of a lot, way more than was necessary, but Clarke’s growth as a person has helped me as a person. It’s pretty sweet.

“That’s why I’m so calm, Triple B. ‘Cause I don’t see her as my enemy. She isn’t – wasn’t, whatever. She’s dead now, yeah, but I can learn from her. She was me; I was her. I learn from her like I’m learning from my own past, ‘cause it _is_ my own past, and that helps. There’s peace in that.”

Alicia frowns. “But how do you understand the difference? How do you separate them?” She pauses, before admitting, “I want to separate myself from Lexa.”

The blonde shrugs. “It’s not all that important. I know who I am, and I know there’s a difference between who I am and I was as Clarke. Lexa isn’t your enemy – and you _can’t_ be separated, not entirely. She was you, Alicia. She was you, once. You share the same soul, you _are_ the same person. Just, in different lifetimes, with different brains,” she tries to explain. Somehow, when she says it, it gets through to Alicia; it knocks down all the brittle worry she built up. When Elyza starts speaking again, flashes of Clarke come through. “Lexa was a beautiful, magnificent human being, and she was you, and – I don’t think Lexa would’ve shied away from you, ‘Licia. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t have hidden from you. You’d make her happier. She makes you wiser. You’re a good team. Alicia, let her in.”

Something changes, then. Something clicks.

She can breathe easier. The orchestra adjust their instruments, pick the right piece to play. It’s a beginning of acceptance, of reconciliation, of… something else. Something more alive.

(Something to do with Elyza.)

The Californian’s nod is hesitant at first – is she sure she really wants to do this? – but then it becomes more confident.

“I’ll try,” she finally says, and Elyza’s smile returns to its full size. She turns her head to the window – the light is starting to go, and her body starts to ready itself for sleep in response. Her vision is just a _little_ bit blurred, but she blinks it away. “What did Lyndsey and Mary want, earlier?”

The Australian shifts in her position to get closer to other girl. She sandwiches herself between the bedside table and the brunette, her legs outstretched and her boots muddying the duvet cover. Alicia can’t find it in her to care; her earlier resentment has dissipated, and she’s been discreetly craving Elyza’s presence since her apology. (Hell, she sounds so _eager_. She’s usually not like this, she swears.)

She’s so close, and so warm, and so comforting. Elyza sighs, dragging her hands through her hair. The brunette tries not to stare at the motion. “Just wanted to see how we were going. Can you believe they’re our platonic soulmates? It’s ripper, of course, but…”

Alicia purposely ignores her increased heart rate. “But?” She thinks she already knows the answer.

“Sleeping with and then killing her boyfriend won’t make anyone love me, will it?” the blonde responds lightly, her smile crooked with a hint of remorse. “But Lyndsey’s okay with me. We both know it’s a past life. New life, new experiences.” She exhales, nonchalant, before adding, “Octavia and Raven. Didn’t expect that.”

Wait – “Octavia?” the brunette frowns.

“Yeah. Mary was Octavia in a past life,” Elyza explains.

Well. “I thought Octavia had Lincoln.”

“So did I. Things change, clearly.”

“Sometimes.” The Californian’s eyes lock with Elyza’s, and she blushes furiously before looking away.

“Not always, though,” Elyza finishes off Alicia’s thought, a bemused expression fully on display. “Like your blushing. It’s still bloody cute.”

“Shut up, ‘Lyza.”

“No can do. You’re stuck with me for life. Multiple lives, actually.”

Alicia mock-scowls at the blonde, who grins cheekily.

God help her.

For all their joking about being stuck with each other, they find some calm in it. Finally. The very thing she thought she needed to avoid – Elyza – is the one thing that helped her. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? Her soulmate, helping Alicia. Alicia helping Elyza. It makes sense.

As her body grows even heavier and her eyes close on their own, she leans on the blonde’s shoulder and feels herself getting light-headed. She’s pretty sure she’s not going to be plagued by the accelerated of dying again, so she’s comfortable to fall asleep like this and not disrupt the Aussie in any way. Besides, Elyza’s stroking her hair, and that’s really not helping her to stay awake.

Everything becomes blurry – the scene in front of her flickers from astronauts on a wall to a clearing full of luminescent butterflies – but Elyza’s words come back to her, loud and clear as ever. _Let her in._

And, Alicia thinks, maybe she should. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt.

Lexa would not have shied away from new knowledge. Especially if it gave her an advantage. And this _does_ – it brings her closer to Elyza, closer to freedom. Knowing all of Elyza, knowing she can lean on her – maybe it’s not a bad thing. Alicia knowing herself – who she _was_ , who she _is_ , and who she _can be_ – that doesn’t sound like a bad thing either.

This is truth. This is – maybe this is part of her identity.

And so she slips into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> Side note: 8000? 8000 reads? Holy shit. That's a hell of a lot. Holy moly. Thank you so much.


	13. of manpain and men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution seems to be the way forward; resolution, and reality.  
> After all - reality will come back to bite them no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, please listen to: Grow Up // Paramore.  
> (Don't fear - this song is, of course, talking about a certain character getting in the way of our girls. [glares at Mikel])
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria

The thing about time – especially in a world that’s gone to absolute shit – is that it loses meaning. There are only a few times when it matters: getting to a place before sundown, or dodging a walker’s attempt to gnaw your arm off in a crucial half a second, for example. Otherwise, time matters less, and passes by relative to the person experiencing it. In Alicia’s case – and, consequently, Elyza’s – time has even _less_ of a structure.

The Californian’s definitely not an astrophysicist, or whichever type of scientist that deals with the relativity of time, but she’s pretty sure that whatever grip she had on time has fallen away completely. Finding your soulmate has that effect, she’s found.

(Time sure as hell isn’t linear, because otherwise Clarke and Lexa would have been born _after_ Alicia and Lexa. This universe sure as hell isn’t the only one, either, and that only blows her mind more. She’s content just to know those facts in empty statements and incomprehension, because if she gets bombarded by any more revelations, her head will actually explode.)

Time always flies when she’s having fun; while she can’t really call being in Santa Maria _fun_ – hooray for being trapped in a city against her will(!) – the circumstances that surround her help to make it enjoyable. Mostly. The confidence she’s regained from being acquainted with Clarke and Lexa have combined with her fading phantom pain to make her actually happy. _Happy_. In _Santa Maria_.

It’s true. She’s just as shocked.

That confidence didn’t come easily, not as quickly as she hoped. The thoughts she had when falling asleep on Elyza’s shoulder were optimistic, numbed by exhaustion and fledging aspirations. She was just as reluctant after she woke up in the middle of the night, Elyza not having moved from her spot. The blonde was dead to the world – she didn’t stir even when Alicia moved to sit up – which was unusual, but encouraging. (She guessed the Aussie helped to tuck her into bed – she had a fuzzy memory of being woken up and moved, and then succumbing to sleep after her duvet was thrown over her again.) But dawn brought more sleep, and more dreams of the past, and less pain. Dawn brought a sleepy-morning-Elyza, who greeted her with a soft, uninhibited smile, and then it was easier. Easier to sort out her headspace and aim for what she wanted.

And what she wants? Elyza. Peace with Elyza. That’s what she wants. It’s not hard to guess.

It’s hell of a lot harder to go through with it, though.

They do well. Wide smiles and stupid jokes and endless, endless innuendos (she almost missed rolling her eyes at the blonde). A conversation about platonic soulmates over breakfast of beef jerky and filtered water (“It’s transforming the community’s water supply, apparently, which is just Lyndsey being polite and saying they were bloody hopeless at controlling their water. Can you believe they just relied on water bottles before?” the Aussie tells her). Halfway through the day, Elyza disappears downstairs to find them both something to do – she’s making the most of her final day off before being enrolled to help out the residents – and returns triumphantly with a board game.

After their game descends into chaotic, playful bickering, the brunette mentally creates a note for herself: Elyza is just competitive as she is. They should probably never play a board game together again if they actually want to _finish_ the game.

(She still swears she won that game. Elyza just _cheated._ )

That’s pretty much all they do – apart from the curiosity-filled discussions about different types of soulmates and some of the contents of the book they’ve decided to keep, they keep away from conversations about love and being fated to each other, mostly out of respect for each other’s feelings. Because, really, it’s a confusing area for them: Clarke adored Lexa, and Lexa adored Clarke, but Alicia and Elyza are still different people, and that means their feelings are still somewhat separate. When Alicia feels a rush of affection for the blonde in front of her, she has to make sure it wasn’t because the Australian did a very Clarke-like thing. She has to make sure it was _her_ feeling that way for _Elyza_. They’ll overstep boundaries they’re not yet meant to cross if they’re not careful.

She knows, she knows _very_ well, that she does like Elyza. A lot, actually. It was happening before the soulmate revelation – she remembers that time with clarity, and she can see all the signs pointing towards that conclusion – but it’s never been truer than now. She can feel herself falling, slowly, slowly, while Lexa’s love burns as bright as ever for Clarke. She appreciates the way Elyza moves, a lioness born of greatness and moving through the wilderness like she owns it. She appreciates how she finds a joke in almost every situation. She appreciates the Aussie’s substantial survival knowledge, and appreciates how Elyza tries not to narrow life down to just that. (The Californian thinks the soulmate thing has helped.) She appreciates the way Elyza smiles in a unique way at her, her expression halfway between fond and amused. She _appreciates_ her. She _likes_ her.

They don’t talk about the bigger feelings; the inevitability. It’s not time yet. It doesn’t have a set date. They know they’ll just…know.

They’re – well, Alicia is – restricted by her mobility as time passes. She spends all of her eighth day with Elyza in bed, still, because although the pain is quickly receding from her legs, she still shakes with worry at the idea of actually using them. Not to mention, the rest of her body hurts. If she moves her stomach, she’ll probably throw up.

But the eighth day is the _last_ day that she’s completely confined to the bed. By the ninth day, she’s strong enough to stand up, though not on her own; the Australian takes a break from fetching water to get an update on how she’s doing – apparently fetching water is exhausting, but Elyza’s certainly not showing signs of fatigue.

(It’s only while Elyza is there that she’s comfortable enough to attempt the move. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Mikel or anyone who might be downstairs to not push her over or anything like that while she stands up, but it’s a matter of principle. They’ve seen enough of her agony as it is; she doesn’t think they need to have _this_ over her, too.

Besides, Elyza is warm and her grip is strong and familiar, and she won’t scowl in jealousy at the brunette like she’s seen Mikel do more than once.)

Though her chest tightens at the movement and a wave of nausea temporarily blocks directs all of her panic into one small moment, swinging her legs over to the floor isn’t the hard part; it’s the preparation, the actual tightening and relaxing of her muscles that have been wasting away for days now. There are things to think about, like her centre of gravity and straightening her back, and where she directs her weight – she has to take a minute just to mentally prepare herself before she sucks it up and grasps tightly onto Elyza’s outstretched arm.

(It’s vaguely reminiscent of the customary Grounder handshake. Alicia remembers Lexa – and, by nature, herself, she adds to her thoughts quickly – and how she’d gone for the handshake instead of the kiss she’d so desired, the kiss that Clarke had been brave and reckless and brilliant enough to initiate.

If Elyza’s thinking about it, which the Californian thinks she is, she doesn’t comment on it.)

Her other arm grasps the blonde’s corresponding arm and then she’s being pulled up onto her feet, slowly, slowly. Her muscles scream at her and it’s tough, she’s already shaking with exertion, but she’s actually vertical now and it feels _nice_. Underneath all the pain and the exhaustion, it feels nice. It feels like she’s returning to being an actual human again.

“Tell me when you wanna sit back down. I don’t want you to pass out on me, okay?” Elyza informs her, her voice light despite its deep tone, and Alicia can hear the barely hidden elation that mirrors her own.

Her breathing is quick, and her legs – her _everything_ – is shaking, but she thinks she’s okay to stand for a bit longer. She needs to do this; her life can’t be confined to staying in bed. There’s so much more for her to do. She can’t avoid building up her stamina.

She shakes her head. “I won’t pass out,” she mumbles. An idea strikes her – “Besides, you’d probably use it for joke material or something.”

The Aussie shoots her a winning smile, and that keeps her standing for that little bit longer.

She doesn’t pass out. She _does_ collapse on the bed, afterwards, but she stands for five whole minutes, stepping with each leg a few times, and listens patiently to the blonde’s complaints about some of the workers. It seems to be a recurring pattern here; there are just enough good people to prevent the Australian from repeatedly questioning her faith in humanity, but just enough “annoying little shits” for her to get dangerously close to emptying her cargo on their heads. It amuses the brunette; she’s realised that Elyza took a shine to her from day one (even if she _did_ back the Californian into the side of a baking hot truck and snarled at her for being stupid). She’s professionally courteous, if need be, but sincerely – and usually – cynical.

Basically – she takes no shit. Except when it comes to Alicia (but, honestly, they’re both as bad as each other), and otherwise when she has no other choice. Alicia likes that about her.

Mikel calls the Aussie down almost as soon as the brunette collapses on the bed – for lunch, or whatever. Alicia pales at Elyza’s voiced idea of guiding her down the stairs, so the blonde promises to bring food up. She ruffles the Californian’s hair for good measure, laughing at Alicia’s _excellent_ scowl (if she does say so herself), and bounds downstairs, humming what sounds like one of those crappy rock songs she likes so much. Which is unsurprising.

The brunette watches her go, eyelids already drooping and her smile already dopey.

When the blonde comes back upstairs with steaming hot soup, Alicia’s already fallen asleep.

When the she wakes up, the soup has been left on the bedside table, still steaming. (She’s later told that Elyza instructed Mikel to heat it up for the brunette while she’s on duty.)

Sleep helps, actually. It helps a hell of a lot. And maybe that’s why time seems to temporarily lose its meaning for Alicia, especially now she’s sleeping so much. It was bad before – being half-delirious bends time in a manner of different way, she’s discovered – but her irregular sleeping pattern throws any internal semblance of time out of the window. She only knows what time it is from whether there’s light coming through the window or not. She doesn’t stay awake long enough to find out if it’s the morning or the afternoon.

And she sleeps a lot, which she anticipated thanks to the soulmate book, something Elyza brought up for her on day nine. There’s a special section in the book that talks about phantom pain recovery. (It’s only short, thank God; she _cannot_ be assed to read a long chapter in this sort of condition.) Like knowledge, it speeds up the process – and isn’t _that_ exactly what she wants? She explains it to the Australian after the blonde voices her curiosity about the topic; the sun is setting, Alicia takes a break from explaining things in order to have a drink, and the blonde jokes about helping to knock her out in her usual fashion of making an innuendo out of everything.

(The other girl snorts to herself and rolls her eyes, determinedly keeping quiet about having thought about it a few times herself.

Well, she couldn’t avoid it, could she? She has Lexa’s memories of it. Even if she wasn’t attracted to Elyza before – and she really _was_ , she knows – this just confirms it. Lexa remembered everything in vivid detail, but she’s deliberately tried to avoid it out of respect for both Clarke and Elyza. Still, it’s there.)

Sleep isn’t hard, or particularly horrible now. In this phase of her recovery, she’s knocked flat out, and doesn’t dream at all. She barely notices anything when she’s in a slumber; apparently the Aussie once shouted her name to see how deep her sleep was, and she didn’t even stir. It’s a damn relief, because the Californian never wants to go through _anything_ like what she experienced again. She remembers dying, and her body acted like it was dying again to mirror that; she’s died enough for one lifetime, thanks.

(She doesn’t want to think about the real death that she’ll have in this life.)

So, time passes. Elyza and Alicia talk when the brunette is awake. They build her strength, cautiously; they have to work around her pain, but it’s going fast, and their main problem is that her muscles hate her for trying to move around so soon. They have a point – she did _literally mirror dying_ – but she doesn’t have time to laze around, day after day. Time is relative, but it’s also relatively unfair to her.

No – screw that. It’s always unfair to her.

By the tenth day, she crosses the length of the bedroom for the first time. By the time the sun sets, she can walk around on the upstairs floor of the house, as long as she takes rests and has someone to hold onto. She goes downstairs into the living room; Mikel actually congratulates her for improving her strength, which shocks but pleases her. By the eleventh day, she can walk on her own, with far fewer rests and much less time needed to recover. It’s on that day that she decides to build up as much stamina as possible by frequently making trips between the sofa and her bed. At first, it takes around five minutes for her to even get upstairs – has she ever said how much it aches just to move her muscles? Because it does – but the repeated trips just to get things like another blanket help to diminish all the pain.

Enough time has passed, so she doesn’t sleep as much now; she doesn’t need to. And she didn’t fully realise how much she missed, because her days are long and empty again (time is meaningless, and suddenly very, very noticeable). Earlier, Elyza had to tell her that this is her twelfth day since meeting the blonde – she is the only one, after all, who both cares about that particular detail and has a more regular sleeping pattern. Obviously, she can’t ask Mikel. He’d stare at her before moving off.

Elyza now toils out in the glaring sun with the other labouring residents, or spends her time socialising with either Lyndsey and Mary, or Alicia and Nick – if Nick is visiting Mikel’s house. The leader himself treats her like a ghost most of the time, but returns in the evening and sometimes pops in whenever he’s not immediately needed for a major task. Alicia can never predict his entrances – he just bursts through the door, flows through the house as he collects what he needs, and marches out without even glancing at the brunette curled up with the book on the sofa.

Alicia knows, it’s his drive and his direction that has this place working as well as it does. Without his tireless efforts, Santa Maria would be collecting dust – or overridden by gangs. But it’s at the cost of knowing who this man once was.

As much as she distrusts him, Alicia wants to know more about him. She wants to know what brought him here, how he got the others on his side. He had to persuade them in some way; this version of Mikel is cold, and he can’t have always been like this. Otherwise he wouldn’t be as respected as much as he is.

“He was nice,” she remembers Elyza telling her on the ninth night. “Well, he was – I wasn’t there often, was I? Only left Oz every couple years. I wasn’t as close to him as he wishes I was. Yeah, we messaged each other regularly, but it wasn’t deep, wasn’t close. He was a friend, and he made living in Cali easier. We made things easier for each other; his mum had died and my dad, the group and I were there for him to give him a laugh. But that’s all it was: caring for each other in need. I guess he clung onto that.”

“But he’s doing fine here, without the group. He didn’t have to go…” the Californian had struggled to find the right word – “he didn’t have to get so… cold.”

Elyza had poured herself another glass of liquor. (Stolen from the pantry earlier in the day, and she’s not even surprised anymore.) “What did you expect? Army enthusiast loses his mum, after giving up his dream to be a soldier to look after her. _Bam_ – the end of the world happens, he loses the group, and finds people can boss about. I’m surprised he isn’t worse.”

And, yeah. She did have a point. She’s only curious because he knows Elyza – _knew_ Elyza, before Alicia did – but she’s curious nonetheless.

She’s made her peace with Mikel’s current state (it’s _him_ who’s the problem). The present is intact. She’s not so vigilant about avoiding the past.

Alicia’s glad Elyza’s not so vigilant, either. She’s glad Elyza’s embracing other things. She’s glad she is, too.

She hears the door open before she sees it – honestly, she’s more surprised if it stays closed than if it stays open – and it takes a while before her head lifts up to see who’s disrupting her. Her head is level, her gaze carefully blank of anything, until she recognises Nick’s ambling form. She gives him a small smile of greeting, then.

“Hey,” he drawls when he reaches the sofa chair, reaching out to steady himself on the back arch before walking around it to collapse onto the threaded sky blue cushions. He deflates at the movement, finally off his feet. “How you doing? Still reading?”

His sister looks down to the soulmate book again. She hadn’t seen it when Tobias had first brought it to the two girls, but the cover is really just an artist’s fanciful depiction of the universe, the title and the authors of the book printed in silver. On the inside, there’s a stamp: the book was last taken out of the library in the 70s, and on the inside title page, a small, scribbled inscription gives her a clue into the mind of the previous borrower: _I always did know; love is stardust._

It’s an incredibly profound statement for a half-careless footnote in the front of a book, but Alicia loves it. _Love is stardust_ – ethereal, eternally transient… and, somehow, homely. There’s something to hope for in there. It’s like a promise: as long as this universe exists, so will her love. Scattered through space and time, but still there, still tangible. She’s never seen anything that makes more sense.

(She thinks of Clarke’s and Lexa’s love, how they danced around each other to the drum of war before they danced together to the complicated tune of love. Stardust sprinkled into that lifetime, the glitter on her neck the night of the battle with Roan. The soft soaring in Clarke’s eyes.

Nothing’s ever made more sense.)

Her fingers smooth over little black bumps on the page that already mean so much to her (her fingertips touch the words _subject #34, Alice, comments that proximity is often a factor in increased yearning_ ) and a private smile appears on her face. Then her eyes are back up, watching her brother with muted curiosity.

That seems to be a Lexa thing. And she knows it’s a Lexa thing because, somehow, she never quite managed to look at him totally impassively – there was always _something_ behind it. Desperation, fear, anger. (Hope. Love. She cared for him, cares for him.)

Nick has never seen _this_ face, this new edge it has, and he does not know of the new easiness that’s come with it.

(And that doesn’t scare her so much.)

It doesn’t mean to say she loves him any less, just that there’s a new part of her that he’ll never fully understand. No one else will, except Elyza.

It still pisses her off that he left her to die. But he’s here now, and _alive_ , which is nice, she guesses. After so many years of caring for him, years of hospital visits and empty bedrooms, that underlying relief never really goes away.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she responds.

He concedes that. “It still doesn’t make sense to me,” he admits. “It’s asking for a lot.”

She doesn’t expect him to understand; just accept it. She’d like it if he didn’t look at her with scepticism when she talks about it – she has enough of that with Mikel. No matter how much they may rely on the book for information, the proof isn’t in the words – the proof is in how much Elyza and Alicia connect. It’s there, it’s palpable – the book just puts what’s happening onto paper.

She shrugs. “It makes sense. It does. You’d know if you felt it.” Still, that level gaze, nothing given away.

Nick still watches her, the smallest of smirks coming across. “I’m not denying it exists, ‘Licia. All sorts of things happen now, don’t they? You’re right; it’s too much for me to understand.” He leans forward, brushing his hair back. (Alicia can see more of his face again.) “That doesn’t mean it won’t help.”

He’s doing that thing where he doesn’t divulge in all he’s thinking. He’s like this (when she’s angry, she says it’s him being overdramatic); Alicia has to guess his thought pattern. His sister crooks an eyebrow at that. “Help who?”

“All of us,” he responds. “Elyza has that truck, right? She can help us escape. All we have to do is distract the soldier guy and get the gates open. Shouldn’t be too hard with how wired he is.”

She pictures the scenario, then – open roads, Port Hueneme, Elyza and Nick. Finally going back to her family, like she’s wanted to ever since she lost them. The thing is, now she knows Nick’s alive, she doesn’t exactly picture him by her side when she finally does see her mom again.

She frowns ever so slightly. “You’re coming with us?”

“You don’t want me to?” is his playful retort.

She scoffs, dismissing that entirely. “Of course. It’s just – you never do. You’re never with us.”

The quirk of smile is a little sad now, and she keeps her eyes trained on it. “Yeah, I just… don’t wanna be around to witness the effects of something I had a hand in.”

Her first, bitter thought is: that figures. Her second thought is that, in this context, he has a valid point. It’s becoming startlingly clear that this is a community that works only when it is strong; a show of weakness and everything is likely to fall apart.

And – ah, shit. Nick, Elyza and her will provide the break in the links. They will be the catalyst that will see Mikel fall.

Alicia knows, unlike her brother, she’d stick around to help things run smoothly. That’s what she _does_ – she goes the extra mile for the people she cares about, so at least they have less troubling lives. (Isn’t her path to her mother a prime example of that?) For all her apparent – though sometimes real – aloofness, at the core of things, she kind of does care a lot about people. She wishes she didn’t, sometimes.

She distrusts Mikel, sure, and she kind of hates him, but she doesn’t exactly want him to be penalised for her actions. Will he stay as leader after they escape? Will he even stay in Santa Maria? She doesn’t know. (She doesn’t like not knowing.)

The brunette swallows those thoughts down, because her plans are set in stone. She will not miss seeing her family again for the probable suffering of a man who doesn’t even like her. She cares for him – at a basic human level, okay – but definitely not enough to tear her own dreams down.

She needs to talk about something else. She schools her face into that new impassivity and informs her brother, “We don’t know where the truck is, though.”

Nick leans back in his chair, his arms lazily snaking along the chair’s arms, and he loosely crosses his right leg over his leg. He looks both permanent and impermanent – like a ghost, surveying what used to be his. His realm is wherever he goes, wherever he went, but it always rejects him, always draws attention to the fact that he doesn’t belong. “You don’t, maybe. But you haven’t been here long enough. You don’t know Mikel enough.”

(He belongs and doesn’t belong. The end of the world doesn’t change that.)

The next few moments are filled with more silence. This seems to be how they are now. Careful consideration. Alicia doesn’t _want_ to know Mikel more, but she has to admit that knowing his patterns would be useful for their expedition.

“And you do?” It’s not accusatory by any means. Again, cool and curious.

Nick nods. “Storage facilities, near the edge of Santa Maria. All the things he confiscates are there, ‘cause no one ever really goes there except him and his lackeys. He’s got a special section for the vehicles. I am… very certain Elyza’s truck is there, too. I can get a few of the residents to come with me one time on patrol; they wanna get out themselves.”

That catches her attention. Whereabouts of the Aussie’s beloved Ark _and_ news of dissenters? This is – this is playing right into her hands. She gently closes the book and rests her arms across it, sitting up in piqued interest. “Go on your next patrol. The sooner we go, the better. When’s your next shift with these people?”

Nick glances at the ceiling as he recalls his timetable. It’s astonishing; he’s actually _listening to orders_. Alicia half-wonders why he’s agreed to join the two girls. “I tend to rock up to Mikel whenever and he sends me away to patrol,” he informs her. Oh. Not so much of a timetable, then. “But I could talk to Lyndsey and Mary now. I think they’re patrolling this afternoon.”

His sister nods. “The sooner, the better,” she repeats, for lack of anything to say. She’s not entirely surprised that Lyndsey and Mary are the dissenters – after the soulmate event happened, they got caught up in it too. Realising that you actually knew each other in a past life but, this time, you’re finally a romantic couple? That’s bound to change your perspective on things. (Alicia can relate; only this time, she will hopefully keep being in this romantic couple and actually _stay alive_.)

It’s more likely they wanted to leave beforehand. That would be understandable too. She certainly got that impression from when they came to re-introduce themselves yesterday.

(She winces to herself. Lexa did not warm herself to Raven and Octavia by any means, which accounted for the tense undercurrent in the room when they stepped into the living room with Elyza. But all four girls agreed to put that behind them; Lyndsey is not Raven, Alicia is not Lexa, and they are absolutely fine with each other. Lyndsey’s level-headed, and kind – Mary’s more explicitly badass. Alicia understands their personalities, and gets on well with both of them. Her Australian soulmate was, consequently, absolutely delighted.)

Nick speaks again, shoving her back into the present. “And tell Elyza about that. She’ll want to know. Just make sure you or your girlfriend are nowhere near Mikel, yeah?”

And there she goes again – blushing like hell, why does she always have to blush? The whole idea is to _not_ give him any reasons to tease her.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” she asserts, but any authority she tries to convey is _immediately_ scrubbed away by the fact that her cheeks are still so goddamn red.

Nick raises an eyebrow, his teeth on display in the widest smile he’s seen him make in a long time. “Oh, yeah? You sure seem cosy with someone you’ve only known for twelve days.”

“We couldn’t _help_ it,” she responds tightly. She doesn’t know why she’s getting so defensive over this. (Is it too fast, what they’re doing? She’s barely even _out_ – she’s only explicitly told Elyza, actually, everyone just got the idea when it was revealed her soulmate was a girl.)

 “Just consider other people when you go to bed at night, alright? Don’t wanna be kept up by that,” her brother snickers, and her jaw drops – the _nerve._ (It feels good to be playfully arguing about something – normal, even – but even so, she can’t help but think it’s a bit rich when she thinks about all the sleep _she’s_ lost because of _him_.)

She throws a cushion at him.

The door is flung open, and heavy boots prowl on the carpet, but the sound is lost in her preoccupation with Nick and the necessity for him to take back his words; when Mikel finally comes into her line of view and snaps at them to, “Stop messing around; this isn’t your house!” it stuns her into inaction. The cushion she was about to pick up stays leaning against the front of the sofa, next to the book that has fallen from her lap. It’s knocked over her lidded bottle of water.

Nick does his best to hide his sigh, and propels himself out of his chair, bracing his arms until they swing at his sides. Mikel’s sigh is much louder, and his nostrils flare. “Nick, there’s an area to the north of the residency. Use Lyndsey’s extra knife.”

The command is clear; Nick gives Mikel the customary nod, and, without another word, ambles out of the house. The door suppresses a yawn as it shuts, and clicks closed.

Great. Just Mikel and Alicia. A pairing made in heaven.

The leader of the Santa Maria community collapses heavily into the chair not previously occupied, repeating his sigh, rubbing his hands across his face. He looks worse than usual: heavily-shadowed eyes, unkempt hair and a trouser leg ripped and bloodied. His jaw is set and the stubble is coming through. Scruffily handsome. Alicia doesn’t care about his attractiveness, but she does wonder what’s made him so… rundown.

He sighs _again_. The brunette girl is made curious; for a man who would walk like a ghost were it not for his heavy duty boots, he sure is making an effort to seem loud today.

He’s muttering to himself again. Alicia zones back into the world and strains her ears to catch what he’s saying. Then her scowl deepens.

“…of all the things this world had to give me…” he mutters under his breath, words muffled by his hands over his face, “…why did it give me Elyza just for her to be taken by some teenager pretending to be injured? Fucking… God.”

How dare he? He doesn’t know what happened – doesn’t _care_ to know what happened. He only sees what he wants to see.

Alicia bristles and snaps, “You’re shit at hiding your true feelings.”

Mikel groans. “I don’t have the patience to listen to your higher moral preaching, Alicia.” His hands return to the sides of the chair, and he glares at her. “We’ll always be at odds on this topic. There’s nothing either of us can do to change that.”

“You don’t try to,” she accuses him. How he doesn’t see that, she has no idea. Tunnel vision must do that to you.

“And you do?” he retorts. “ _You_ never asked for my side of this. I wonder, what did you label me as?  The heartless soldier? You didn’t think to listen to me, did you? You wouldn’t be the first.” He watches her watching him for a few moments before scoffing and turning his head away. “Not that people ask anyway.”

That last sentence hits her hard. Because she knows how that feels. She knows it well – _knew_ it well.

(Her affection for Elyza, she’s starting to think, is founded upon the fact that Elyza _does_ listen. That she does care, even though things may get in the way and she may get it wrong sometimes. Alicia’s not _just there_ for Elyza. She’s not _just_ anything to the blonde.

Something significant starts to flower inside her chest.)

It’s enough of an impact to still her tongue, for a second; for her to swallow down her acrid response.

If he’ll listen to her, she’ll give him this.

She waits a heartbeat, picking up the cushion and the book, before dropping her voice and replying to the leader, “Then I’m asking.”

Mikel looks up, astonished.

She repeats herself. “I’m asking.”

 It takes half a minute for Mikel to start talking. Alicia doesn’t move, can’t move. (This is an entirely new type of paralysis.) He sits up, rubs at his jaw, and hesitantly opens his mouth.

“I didn’t often see Elyza – she tells _you_ everything; she must’ve told you that,” he starts. He won’t look at the brunette girl sitting across from him. “I saw her when she came to visit her dad, which was every few years. But I got to know her in those times. She’s larger than life. She does what she does and she does it well – everything. There’s no stopping her. And I love that. I never got that from anyone else. Uh – I remember meeting her for the first time, and she was tinkering on a motorcycle with her father. Just got back from those survival courses, already onto their next new project. They were those sort of people: they plan and then they just do it. And the first thing I remember thinking about her is that she was _funny_. I think the first thing she actually did in my presence was to crack a joke to me. I don’t remember what she said, but it was funny.

“Jake introduced us, said I was the kid next door helping out his mom. I think she warmed to that. She was never cold, but she got more empathetic the more I talked to her. She left her dad to mess around with the motorbike and joined me while I did the routine checks on my mom. My mom loved her, and I wasn’t surprised. Elyza’ll either make you love her or envy her.

“She wasn’t around often – of course, she lived in Australia – but we talked anyway. Not much, but regularly. It was a street thing, just an online chat the neighbours frequented. When my mom couldn’t fight anymore, they became my support network. The thing was, I was already falling. I looked for Elyza’s messages more than anyone, because she meant more to me. She still had that air of enigma around her. I used to think of when she’d next come to Cali, if she’d want me. I’d wait for her to finish… doing her thing on her piano, you know, and then sit and talk to her and just _be_ with her. I never told her that, but it was what I clung to. Images of her laughing at my jokes, listening to my stories. Wanting to stay in America, for _me_ …”

(There is no jealousy that fuels her next thoughts, or her bias: Alicia knows, instinctively, that they would not be a good pair.)

He clears his throat and continues. “I knew Elyza wasn’t straight. Anyone who knew her knew that; she parades it about without a damn worry. But I thought that she’d be – you know, that one people say when they’re confused. Not straight, not gay. Bisexual, isn’t it? That one. But she didn’t listen to what I was trying to figure out. Stubborn, she’s stubborn. And I hoped she’d like me anyway, because that’s what you do.”

Alicia’s empathy takes a nosedive towards non-existence. Invalidating both Elyza’s _and_ her own sexuality in one train of thought is absolutely _not_ the way to get Alicia to like someone.

“Mikel, she’s _gay_ ,” she interrupts. “Not bisexual. And confused doesn’t mean bisexual. I should know.” She hates that she has to clarify that, to out herself, to Mikel – just so he has an actual example of a bisexual person around for him. But he’ll never learn otherwise.

(It really, really shouldn’t have to be like that, she thinks. Especially not in modern times.)

“Yeah. Of course.” He looks at her shamefully and shifts in his seat, before clearing his throat again and reiterating his point. (Alicia rolls her eyes to herself.) “Well, I thought she might like me, still. I didn’t think she was totally lesbian. I didn’t think… I didn’t think she was all throughout the end of the world… until now. That’s why I stuck around for her.

“It was good, going around in that group, you know? Elyza was here in California, visiting her dad, and everyone on the online chat reunited again. I’d gotten a job, making up for all the time I lost caring for my mom. Then the end of the world happened, and nothing else really mattered apart from each other. As long as we stayed alive, we were cool. My support network was there, and we were supporting each other. We’d all just lost everything, though I didn’t have much to lose in the first place.

“Elyza took it hard. She lost her friends, most of her family, when it happened. I was there for her when the nights got too long and the walkers too horrible to face. But she was resilient, and she had her dad. She’d just changed, got angrier, got a more protected heart. We all did – we had to adapt. I just drew on what I’d been drilled into me from my brief time in the Army. And I liked her still, this newer Elyza. And it was all good, until it all went wrong, of course. It always goes wrong, doesn’t it? A trip to a pharmacy to help her get through this flu went wrong; we were overrun, a gang member playing with us and a whole _horde_ of walkers waiting to be unleashed. Callum – it was always Callum who couldn’t keep his mouth shut – who antagonised him. He didn’t think he’d actually lock us in a burning building with walkers, did he? And the gang member did. It wasn’t a very effective lock – nothing a week of survival training couldn’t handle, Elyza’s dad made sure of that – but it was enough for us all to die. Either from the fumes or the walkers, it didn’t matter. Everyone died. Everyone – everyone died.

“I don’t know how I escaped, but I did. I guess I just looked ahead and didn’t stop running. Callum was with me, but the walkers had got out the building, too. Some started following him. I don’t know how far he got; he was hurt, badly. I knew he wouldn’t survive. But he didn’t look at me, didn’t ask for me. I don’t think he wanted to live with the shame. So I just ran. Ran away from the fires that were picking back up, ran to water, got myself almost killed a few times. But everything I’ve struggled through in my life made my will to survive the strongest instinct I have, something they liked when I arrived here. It wasn’t even a residency, not yet – just a community, struggling to survive day to day. But I worked my way up, and succeeded where others didn’t. Every time they thought I was just a kid who could talk big, I proved myself to them. Leaders didn’t last long here, not until I got into leadership positions. I founded a residency, and found a community. But I was waiting for Elyza. All this was for her. They knew that.”

“It should’ve been for you,” Alicia tells him calmly. She realises it’s helpful to know Mikel’s sob story – but she’s still not warmed up to him. She doesn’t think she ever will. “Elyza didn’t want any of this.”

“That wasn’t the point,” Mikel tries to argue. His face closes off – the relaxed, albeit mournful, expression that had settled on his face has faded again, a ghostly reminder of who the leader could be if he wasn’t like _this_. The hard-set jaw and creases on his brow have returned; his grey eyes are like steel once again.

But none of that intimidates the other Californian. None of it whatsoever. Hell, Lexa fought armies with less than a sword – Alicia thinks she can handle this man.

“It _is_ , Mikel,” she insists, head raised in her defiance. “She’s not who you want her to be. Did you think to ask _her_ about this?”

Silence. The anger stews between them.

Alicia’s jaw clenches and unclenches automatically. She grits her teeth and continues, “You didn’t. You couldn’t separate what you wanted from reality.”

She didn’t realise this conversation had turned into her challenging the leader, but she’ll take it.

“That’s rich,” he snorts, looking away once more. “You acted like you were _dying_.”

“That wasn’t my _decision_ ; I had no choice,” she snaps. And Mikel falls silent. He can tell himself all he likes that she was pretending, but he knows the truth as well as anyone does: no one would choose that for themselves. She has him just where she wants; she lowers her voice. “But you did have a choice. And you can’t deny that.”

Despite the low volume of her words, they ring throughout the room.

Mikel suddenly can’t take it; in one swift, solid movement, he’s up out of the chair and stalking past it, on his way to the door. Alicia just watches him. (It means she’s won, after all.) Yet the Santa Maria resident can’t let it slide – he swivels around to face her and stays locked in his stance as he questions, “Would you choose it, the soulmate thing? If you had a choice of who to love and who to let go, would you choose Elyza?”

Alicia’s immediately aware that she can’t pick an answer that would be fair on either of them – or, come to think of it, Elyza. How can she? If she says yes, she rids herself of that freedom of choice – something she was worried about when she first heard about the soulmate debacle – and goes against her argument to Mikel. If she says no, it’s not fair on Elyza, or what’s to come for both of them. And she knows, Elyza’s and Alicia’s future together has the potential to be fucking amazing; she just can’t relate that to what she’s experienced so far.

She holds as much logic as the military man. She won’t be caught out by this strategic ploy. So she tells him the only thing that she can, the one thing she keeps discovering after every moment that tests her: “You can improve reality, but you can’t run away from it.”

(Hmm. She should’ve been an Agony Aunt or something.)

Mikel attempts to conceal the frustration and devastation she knows her words have caused. She’s never seen him this mutely angry, trying so desperately to counter everything she’s said. And she does feel bad for knocking him down like this, destroying his hopes for himself and Elyza so completely, but it’s a realisation she thinks he needs to come to. Truly, there’s no easy way to put across that all your dreams have been crushed.

(She should know.)

The glare he sends her way finalises her victory, and she feels hollow. Then the door slams open again, and a whistling Elyza saunters in, leather jacket tied around her waist and her skin grubby and grimy. She stops whistling as she takes her sunglasses off and secures them in her fist, her blue, blue eyes sparkling with the same enthusiasm as is in her grin.

Alicia is filled with a reminder of why she had to have that conversation with Mikel. Her smile spreads across her face, despite herself. (It’s an automatic thing, now.)

“Hey, Misery Man,” the blonde quips with a salute as she strolls past the leader. She’s completely unaware of the tense atmosphere for the moment.

Mikel seems to be wrapped up in his own world. “ _Shut_ up, Elyza,” he scowls, before marching out of the house, his boots stomping until the door is closed behind him. The door closes with a quiet groan, and time seems to still for a moment.

Then – the Australian practically jumps onto the sofa, landing in a position very close to the brunette. “Finally done for the day. I’ve decided: when we leave this place, I’m taking a motorbike,” Elyza informs the other girl very matter-of-factly. She flings her sunglasses onto the chair closest to her, before bending over to unlace her boots. Alicia glances at the sight next to her and snaps her head away, swallowing what she hopes is discreetly.

(Nope, nope, nope. Not right now, Alicia.)

“Are you now?” the Californian questions, eyebrows raised, as she finally puts the cushion back in its designated place.

“Mmhmm. It’s all settled. Mary’s fixing up a bike she found for me. Lyndsey convinced Mikel it was a hobby Mary had taken up, thank God.”

Elyza’s head is turned to the side, towards her; the Californian sees the blonde eye the bottle of water at the foot of the sofa and grabs it, holding it out for the Aussie as the girl finishes taking off her boots. “Have it. I’m not thirsty.”

With both boots off – and a customary sigh of relief to accompany them – the blonde thanks Alicia and twists off the lid in a quick, forceful movement, before taking a few generous sips. When she’s done, Elyza passes the bottle back to the brunette, who refuses to take it with a simple crooked eyebrow. The blonde relents.

“What about Ark? You said you didn’t want to leave without her—your truck.” Dammit, she’s been in Elyza’s presence far too much.

The Aussie smirks and leans against the brunette like it’s the most natural thing in the world. (To be fair, it probably is.) Alicia lets herself be comforted by the feel of her side, by the warmth, and tries to ignore the rapid increase of her heartrate.

“Well, if Nick’s gonna be with us, he’s not gonna want to be in the back of the truck, is he? You and I could ride the bike, and I’d let him drive,” Elyza shrugs.

Alicia pouts dramatically. “You’ve never let _me_ drive the Ark,” she points out.

The second of smug silence that the other girl creates is enough to inform the brunette that Elyza is very much taking advantage of the situation – even before that smug smirk becomes scrawled across her face. (Oh, no.) “If you’re giving me a choice between who I have wrapped around me while I ride, I don’t think you should complain about not experiencing driving Ark,” she responds, her tone dripping in salaciousness.

The Californian had a reason to be wary. Suddenly, the idea of being on the back of a motorcycle appeals a lot more to her.

That water bottle looks incredibly appetising right now.

Elyza keeps the eye contact until a thought comes to her – the bright sky in Elyza’s irises suddenly cloud over with confusion: “Nick _is_ coming with us, right?”

“Only because he doesn’t want to stick around to see the fallout he’ll help create,” Alicia informs her, the charged air between them calming down a little bit. “He goes where life takes him. He doesn’t care as much about seeing the rest of us.” (That fact still hurts.)

The Aussie frowns. “But he’s your _brother_ ,” she argues. “If I had a little sister with me, I’d sure as hell stick around them in this mess. Hell, _any_ family. I’d at least try.”

“Yeah, well. Family’s not for everyone,” the brunette mutters. Breathing in – breathing in Elyza’s scent in consequence – she changes the subject. “Mikel told me his backstory earlier.”

Elyza sighs. (Her eyes seem to darken at that, and Alicia can’t stop looking at them as they change.) “Did he? Let me guess: he told you about how much he wanted to meet me after he escaped, and how he had no choice but to leave everyone. He probably threw in the usual ‘I cared for her in the apocalypse’ claim, too.”

Alicia frowns slightly. The Australian doesn’t seem to be _nearly_ as sympathetic as Alicia – well, as Alicia _tried_ to be. “Something like that.”

Elyza snorts. “Overestimating his own importance. Don’t get me wrong, we were friends, but I think I cried on his shoulder, like, once. And that was only ‘cause my dad wasn’t around.”

The Australian casually rests her elbow on the brunette’s shoulder and lets out an aggravated sigh. If she wasn’t already so affected by the close proximity of the blonde’s presence – especially after Elyza’s comment about being wrapped around her (during _“riding”_ , for God’s sakes) – Alicia would’ve given much more attention to the fact that Elyza has heard this all before. That Mikel has told her all this, has been rebutted again, and still can’t seem to let the blonde go.

As such, Elyza is _very_ close to her right now. And she smells like sweat and dark chocolate. Alicia can’t find it in herself to blame her slightly heady state on her in-progress recovery.

If the blonde recognises this, then – surprisingly – she doesn’t comment on it. She continues, “His reasoning is wrong. He thought that what he wanted as always what I wanted.”

Alicia finds herself nodding. She’s not totally clear on it happening – she’s only 90% certain it does. “And you don’t want him.”

The Aussie shakes her head minutely. Her eyes dart down to below the other girl’s nose – maybe even to her lips, but the brunette can’t be sure of that. Even the second time must be a trick of the light. “Too right. I’ve got what I want already,” Elyza agrees with her. The thick air becomes potent. “Or – someday.”

Alicia still feels light-headed. Her careful reconstruction of time is smashed once again – seconds pass like milliseconds, and the world around them fades from view. Elyza is very, very close.

The Aussie’s hand rises up to caress Alicia’s cheek with a knuckle, before her arm drops from the other girl’s shoulder.

She remembers kissing Clarke, how it felt. Like nothing else mattered, like she was feeling their heat spread through her, feeling the heat expand until her heart was twice the size, three times the size. She felt the beauty of constellations and the breath-taking joy of the Sun, and she shivered like the cool night air bowing to the power of stars.

Someway through this train of thought, she hears herself repeat the word, “Someday,” back to the blonde. And Elyza is very, very close. Even closer.

(Jesus Christ, she’s never seen Elyza’s eyes look so bright.)

She can feel her breath. Hear it. She can feel Elyza’s breath on her own lips.

If she just surged forward, if she just took the plunge. Let every worry around her disappear; if she just—

Like before, she lets the blonde inch forward—

The door is flung open again, revealing a very restless Nick, who checks left and right for signs of the Santa Maria leader. It pulls the girls back into this world. They create the necessary space between themselves, _both_ burning bright red with knowledge of what very nearly happened. Heart beating like a drum in her chest, calling for the blonde, Alicia doesn’t want the blonde to go too far, but knows it’s needed – that would have been a kiss too caught up in the implications of Clarke and Lexa. That wouldn’t have been as real as they would’ve wanted it to be.

Besides, if they _had_ kissed, they wouldn’t have had clear enough minds to deal with Nick’s next words.

He sits down on the chair not occupied by a pair of sunglasses, and smiles at the both of them. (Or, more accurately, he smirks at Alicia, and nods at Elyza. The blush on the brunette girl’s cheeks is not going to go away any time soon.) “Good news, guys,” he announces. “Lyndsey and Mary helped me find your truck, and they’re on board for leaving this place too. All we’ve gotta do now is plan our escape.”

Despite the gravity of the situation they’ve just been wrenched from, Alicia finds it effortless to stare wide-eyed at the Australian.

Elyza, of course, is ecstatic from this news. She elbows the Californian girl in the side and grins, “We’ll be seeing your mum before you know it, Triple B.” Then she turns to Nick, braces her hands on her knees. “It’s about time, right? Fire away, Clarky boy.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. That was an _atrocious_ nickname. But she can’t hide her smile.

She doesn’t think she needs to, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart's breaking over how undervalued Alicia is in the FTWD canonverse.  
> Hits, kudos and comments are extremely appreciated!


	14. we deserve an oscar for this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of their stay in Santa Maria arrives, and Alicia, Elyza and Nick must plan on how to break free. They will have to lie, argue and escape in broad daylight, and Alicia will no longer be a recluse in the residency.  
> But she's sure about Elyza, and she's confident in their abilities. They can do this. They can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For entertainment maximisation, listen to: Take A Chance // Flume feat. Little Dragon.
> 
> Warning: slightly graphic description of the disembowelment of a raw chicken.
> 
> For a visualisation of the Santa Maria residency, head to: http://gun-bxtch.tumblr.com/post/152566913604/for-anyone-who-wanted-a-visual-on-the-santa-maria

Outside of the house, Alicia hears a stuttering growl, before an engine roars into life. It cracks off the sides of the buildings as it speeds down the street, the sound persistent and knocking against her ears over and over again. She knows who’s riding that vehicle, what vehicle that is. Even if Elyza hadn’t suddenly perked her ears at the sound with abrupt interest, she’d definitely know.

She wonders what Mary and Lyndsey did to earn the respect of Mikel. With Alicia and Nick, Mikel is lenient with them more out of obligation than anything else. With Elyza – it’s a strange mix, love and anger and respect. But he still considers them more in his actions than he does most of the residents. Most people have to work for weeks to even get out of transporting water; Nick took two days. (“I stopped him from dying,” is all her brother gives her, which is informative but also frustratingly lacking.) Elyza’s eyes went dark and she abruptly finished talking when the brunette mentioned Jonas in passing yesterday, and Alicia doesn’t hear anything about him anymore, not at all. (It’s not a good sign.)

How long has he known Mary and Lyndsey – how deep is their bond? What have they done to get him to trust them so implicitly, and why are they still so eager to go? She wants to learn about these two, so mismatched and ideally suited as they are. She wants to learn about Raven and Octavia and their present lives and everything that makes them _them_. She’s in the process of doing this with Elyza, at a deeper level, but this is still something substantial. Still some connection with more of herself.

It’s interesting, how she’s gone from mentally scurrying away from anything to do with the soulmate concept to actively enjoying it. She thinks, it was inevitable. Everything about this is inevitable – but it’s the _good_ sort of inevitability: her freedom of choice isn’t restricted. Just, diverted. There is no telling where they will go with this, what they will see, what they will experience together. There is no telling how much more of herself she will learn – and how much more of Elyza she’ll learn too. How could that not be exciting? How could that not be… safe?

Her mind circuits back to the day the Aussie taught her how to throw knives. (Now Elyza doesn’t have a hope in hell of being better at Alicia at that.) She remembers how god damn _frustrated_ she was at everything – _bounce – THUNK – bounce bounce bounce_ – and how she lamented her vulnerability in this world, this shitty excuse of a world. Thing is, she doesn’t feel quite so vulnerable now.

Nick is talking about… something. She’s not been paying attention; she faded out with the sound of the fading motorbikes. As she tunes back in, his voice becomes clearer. He’s talking about quickly gaining Lyndsey and Mary’s trust. Like usual, Lyndsey and Mary manipulated their friendship with Nick in their advantage; they let him stick around, and his rapport with the Santa Maria leader – already pretty good – only became stronger. (As in, the “Mikel won’t shout at you if you haven’t got a timetabled shift, but will sure as hell still be angry,” sort of rapport. But he digresses.)

Lyndsey and Mary: master manipulators. Alicia’s acutely aware that they’ve been subjected to that too, what with the two women hopping onto their escape plan – but honestly, she doesn’t feel slighted by that. The opposite, in fact; she’s impressed. It’s definitely benefited them all.

Elyza eyes the blanket on the other girl’s lap; in response, the brunette picks up the corner and flings it over the Australian’s own legs. Elyza continues talking to Nick, but the dip of her head is her silent thanks, and the Californian is more than happy to accept that. She watches with a smile on her face as the blonde rakes her fingers through the hair on the crown on her head again.

Except Elyza doesn’t just leave it at that; very, very casually, her other hand rests against Alicia’s, and she uses her knuckles to tap against Alicia’s own fingers. The request makes the brunette’s breath hitch – this should not surprise her so much, she chastises herself, but it _does_ – and the Californian links her fingers with Elyza. Immediately, a rush of warmth bowls through her, and she bites down on her smile.

Her thumb smooths over Elyza’s, and she thinks of leather, partly cracked. The blonde’s palm makes her think of white duvets, and the arch of each finger reminds her of curling breaths in rigid air.

It all happens within a few seconds – the interlocking of their fingers, the turn of Elyza’s head towards Alicia, their small, shared smile at the acceptance, the rejuvenated pounding of her heart as the brunette realises _this_ is what she wants from the soulmate idea, the peace that comes from it – but it feels longer. Time wraps around itself, stretching and complex, to allow the soulmates to have their moment. It doesn’t surprise the Californian in the slightest – if they can find each other in different timelines, on different worlds in different universes, then why _shouldn’t_ time allow them this little exchange? Why _shouldn’t_ time bend to them in a way it hasn’t done before? Don’t they deserve it?

(They do. Alicia’s eyes flicker down and around Elyza’s face, taking in the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the sharp definition of her eyebrows, the little beauty spot above her smirk, and she thinks – yeah, they do.)

“Alright, lovebirds,” Nick teases. “I thought we were planning to escape here, not organising a date.”

Unfazed, Elyza immediately chuckles. Embarrassed, Alicia immediately scowls. (She’s protective of her time with Elyza, okay? The blonde means a lot to her. Nick joking about it might threaten its sanctity.) “Shut up, Nick,” the brunette challenges him, but he keeps smirking.

Elyza, for her part, just clicks her tongue. “It’s okay, ‘Licia, we can do that later.” Her voice drops an octave as she adds, “More privately.”

Alicia may actually die of overheating. She never thought she’d get to this stage, but _apparently_ a few scandal-laced words from a flirty blonde may actually lead her to spontaneous combustion.

Nick is beside himself with amusement. She’ll never live this down.

“Okay, so,” the brunette’s brother restarts the conversation breezily, “I don’t know if you two had anything planned, apart from gazing lovingly at each other, maybe. B—“

“Someone’s jealous they haven’t got a soulmate of their own,” Elyza smirks to the other girl, and, Alicia rolls her eyes with a fond smile.

“ _But_ …” Nick emphasises, clearly not tolerating being interrupted, “I was thinking of putting on a kind of show for the place. You two could create a distraction that way, or something.”

The Aussie frowns at him, tilts her head to the side. Alicia is reminded endearingly of a puppy. “You want us to perform?” The blonde considers it for a second. “What kind of campfire shit are you on about, Clarky boy? You really think _that’s_ gonna distract Sergeant Sulk enough to steal my truck and then get out of here?”

Nick scoffs and leans forward. “No, that’s idiotic. I mean, like, an act. You two pretend to hate each other, say you… had a big argument. Maybe Alicia betrayed Elyza, I don’t know. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Both of you are smart.”

Their heads turn towards each other; they catch each other’s gaze and wince. Arguing with each other… not a pleasant situation, especially considering what’s come before.

“Do we have to specify what we’re arguing about, or are we leaving it out?” Alicia questions, frowning. She doesn’t know anyone who _would_ be happy with being angry at their soulmate. Not a nice past time. She traces the dip between two of Elyza’s fingers with a fingertip.

Nick shrugs, rubbing his hands together. “You two decide that; it was just an idea. Maybe you could get some inspiration from these… past lives you keep talking about. What are their names – Clara and Lexie?”

The brunette girl’s back immediately stiffens – Elyza goes rigid beside her. There’s something very instinctual about it, like they don’t want others to ruin those lives, even by something as simple as getting a name wrong. Alicia isn’t keen on discussing Clarke and Lexa outside of Elyza, Lyndsey and Mary – again, there’s this whole idea of reverence that has been attaching itself to this topic – and Nick’s _terrible_ attempt to remember their names has left her feeling… off. Itchy. Like he doesn’t appreciate this enough, just sees it as an added means to an end.

And yeah, it may have proved itself to be pretty useful, but it’s so much _more_ to Alicia. To Elyza, too. _Elyza_ is so much more and the brunette doesn’t think she should ever take that for granted, not unless it gives _both_ of them an advantage. They’re in this together, not apart.

It is so much more than what it is to Nick, and the Californian feels protective of it.

“It’s _Clarke and Lexa_ ,” both girls correct Alicia’s brother forcefully.

He’s been sufficiently told, but Nick still smirks. “Lesson learned,” he notes.

Alicia knows why he’s so gleeful – yes, she’s whipped, she _knows_ this – but that does absolutely nothing to embarrass her, not this time.

“I know when Lyndsey and Mary patrol, so we can time it for when they don’t have shifts,” Nick breezes on. “Slip under Mikel’s radar. He makes himself busy enough. They can play a part, seeing as they wanna escape too. Maybe they can take the two of you away after your big argument or whatever, and bring you to wherever the truck is. We can organise a place for it beforehand.” He turns his head to Elyza. “You’ll be seeing them soon, right?”

The blonde’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, before landing directly onto the Californian boy. “Tomorrow lunch. Our timetables don’t align in the morning,” she relays easily. “But I’ll hunt them down this afternoon, give them enough notice.” It’s like passing over a baton – “’Licia, Mikel wants you to be helping out in the community tomorrow. He told me to tell you. What sort of work d’you think you can do?”

She considers it for a moment, squinting up at the Australian’s forehead for a second. “I can stand up, do work that way. Just not patrolling. Or hoisting water.” The thought of lifting and transporting water to the different areas of Santa Maria – and dealing with the dirty water, too – almost makes her wish she was still somewhat incapacitated.

Elyza hums thoughtfully. Her nails tap against her chin in a rapid pattern, one finger after the other. “You can cook, right?” she questions.

The Californian snorts. She didn’t get by years of prematurely imposed independence surviving on a diet of Pop-Tarts. _Of course_ she can cook.

Both Elyza and Nick nod understandingly. “Ace,” the blonde smiles, satisfied. “’Cause Florentina and Matt need some help in the Kitchen; they’ve got a spot free. It won’t just be cooking, it’ll be sorting out supplies in the street kitchen. But it’s not hauling shit around all day, and you won’t always be on your feet. Perfect, right? And… they’ve got an opening now.” She adds, tightly, “Mikel wants you to take it.”

(Alicia’s ribcage feels tight after hearing Matt’s name again, but she lets it go.

A breath in. She’s okay.)

The brunette crooks an eyebrow at her, curious as to why she’s replacing someone in the Kitchen, but the Australian stays tight-lipped, doesn’t offer an explanation. Jonas. Well, that explains why Mikel was so desperate to find a replacement in Alicia. Maybe he should explain it’s for penance, while he’s at it. Penance for… whatever’s happened to that man.

(She worries, she wonders, but it sounds an awful lot like Mikel is still blaming her for Jonas’ trigger-happy ways.)

“If you work there, you can sell the drama,” Nick continues with the plan. There’s a sense of avoidance in his urgency to continue – not obliviousness. “Show everyone _else_ you’ve fallen out. Make it more believable.”

The other Clark nods, eyes staring off into space and frowning. The gentle warmth of her soulmate keeps her grounded. (She thinks the sensation of Elyza’s hand locked in hers is not entirely unlike the glow of heat from a bonfire. And then she thinks that, although true, she’s being a _little_ bit ridiculous by being so sappy.)

She doesn’t think she even has a choice in the matter. If Mikel wants her to work, then she’ll have to obey like everyone else and work; after all, she can only go against the highly controlled way of life in the residency for so long. If it fits into their plan, then that’s just an added bonus.

“When is all this happening? Where are we going to –” she uses her free hand to emulate exaggerated speech marks – “ _fall out_? And how do we involve Mary and Lyndsey?”

Elyza’s fingertips ghost over Alicia’s knuckles. “They’ll be in on it, of course. Maybe they can be there for our argument and show Mikel they’ve got it sorte— so, anyway, the tattoo wasn’t great, but I couldn’t exactly take it back, you know? The guy had it on his body, permanently. And he loved it anyway, so that was bonzer.”

The brunette frowns, _extremely_ confused by the sudden, smooth topic change from the plan to _tattoos_. Elyza’s expression is much the same – calm, cool, collected – but now she’s leaning on the plush material of the couch cushioning her back, and winding an arm around the back of the sofa. Which is still puzzling. It takes the Californian, then, a few seconds to realise that she missed the arrival of someone else in the room – Tobias is standing there awkwardly, face also set in a perplexed frown.

Alicia smiles to herself. _That_ was impressive. She’ll tell Elyza that.

“It _was_ your first tattoo you inked; give yourself credit for it,” Nick reasons, before pretending to realise that Tobias is hovering just in the doorway. He turns around and displays no outward sign of enthusiasm, or disappointment, at this interruption. It’s probably the most accurate reaction he could authenticate. “Hey, Tobias. You want anything?”

“Mikel’s not here, is he?” Tobias queries. “I thought he’d be here to talk about making more of the city part of the residency. I said I’d meet him here.” That last bit, Alicia knows, is directed to Elyza more than anyone else. Mikel’s soft spot for her has elevated her, the Aussie thinks; people tell her about the ins and outs of the Santa Maria residency, even if she doesn’t ask about them. In fact, she _doesn’t_ ask for them – she just gets told by everyone, especially Mikel.

At least, that’s what _Elyza_ thinks. Alicia feels that the blonde’s generally brazen nature is more involved. People defer to her no matter the situation; she has that charm, that intellect, that courage. She has that _fire_.

Elyza elevates herself, and Alicia loves the sight of her burning bright.

 _She elevates herself._ The brunette draws in a sharp breath and tightens her grip on the Australian. The other girl responds by leaning in ever so slightly and tilting her head towards Alicia, a question in her eyes. Just checking, just making sure she’s okay. But the Californian is fine; a mutual glance, and it’s enough for Elyza to plough on.

She turns her head back towards the boy standing in the doorway, and shakes her head. “Nah, haven’t seen him since this morning,” she shrugs. “But I’ll tell him you were looking for him if he comes here, alright?”

Tobias nods, utters a small thank you, and leaves, closing the door with as little sound as before.

The blonde breathes out a quick sigh of relief, but doesn’t move back.

“Good save,” Nick comments lightly.

Alicia, for her part, feels as if she has to say something, too. Her soulmate, after all. So she nods, and agrees, “Impressive.”

“You sound pleasantly surprised,” Elyza grins, the outstretched arm returning to reposition the blonde’s hair. Oh, of course, the Australian’s world-famous humility. “You should have more faith in me, babe.”

Alicia barely makes it through her eye roll.

(She has a soft spot for being called “babe”. It’s nothing huge – she just wasn’t prepared for how the nickname would sound curled around Elyza’s tongue.

And, _God_ , she needs to not think about that.)

Nick scratches his head and coughs inconspicuously. “You were talking about Mary and Lyndsey?”

It’s like Tobias never interrupted them – Elyza immediately resumes her previous train of thought, detailing how involved Lyndsey and Mary would be. She outlines how she’ll visit them later to make sure they will actually take part, how she’ll brief them on tomorrow’s events. They’ll play an integral part and make it all the more believable, separating the girls while Nick finds the truck. She’s been sitting with them for the past few days anyway, so nothing will look unusual. Not only that, but they always keep a bag of supplies in case they need to flee Santa Maria – or, as Elyza characteristically points out, “if they finally get round to getting the fuck outta here forever.” They’re all prepared, always ready to go; the opportunity just hasn’t presented itself for them yet. Their friend, Kaylo, the residency’s second medic, is happy to help out. He’s not escaping himself, but he understands the importance of the plan. He knows who the two women have to get back to.

Alicia interjects – if Lyndsey and Mary have their own people to get back to, then how are _they_ travelling? But Elyza assures her, they’ll be bringing both their motorbikes with them. One for themselves, and one for Elyza.

The Australian points lazily in Nick’s direction, and casually announces that Nick can drive the Ark on the way to Port Hueneme. As if this is normal – as if Elyza doesn’t care about that truck more than she cares about most people. The brunette wonders if it’s just because she’s looking forward to _finally_ escaping this damn residency – but, considering the rising glee in the Aussie’s voice, it’s probably that she really, really can’t wait to ride that motorbike.

The blonde may be gleeful, but Alicia deflates when the implications finally hit her. Elyza still believes she needs to be separate, that the risk of not being accepted is high enough for her to make safeguards. Alicia can see what the blonde must see – Elyza being pushed away, Alicia and her group taking the Ark. But she’s determined, _determined_ not to let that happen. Elyza may be obstinate, but Alicia is just as stubborn. Elyza shouldn’t have to face the rest of the walker-infested world alone.

“So,” Alicia starts. “The plan. Let me get this straight.”

This time, they’re upstairs, in their bedroom. She doesn’t know if it’s late night, or relatively early, but the Sun has long disappeared, and her exhaustion keeps muffling the world around her. She’s sat down on her bed, legs outstretched and decidedly _not_ painful (not anymore, thank _fuck_ ), and Elyza is crossed-leg next to her, watching her with a bemused smile on her face.

(Her normal expression, then, when regarding the brunette. Like she’s somewhere between laughing at her own private joke, and keeping her face from splitting with all the joy she secretly feels.

There’s a hint of reverence in there, and Alicia finds it so huge, she can barely push it all down as she swallows.)

“I have a suggestion: get it as gay as you please,” the blonde quips. Her smile transforms into a smirk as she adds, “ _I_ could help you get it.”

“ _Elyza_ ,” Alicia chastises, hiding her face, half with disdain, and half with laughter. But Elyza’s _giggling_ , and anyone who doesn’t smile in the presence of _that_ must have a stone cold heart. Alicia is _sure_ of it. She melts, and her hands fall away from her face, her smile big enough to show her teeth.

The laughter dies down; the brunette catches Elyza staring at her first, but – like usual – the Aussie doesn’t look away. Those sky blue eyes are so, so clear; so stark. They’re quickly becoming her favourite.

(She almost scoffs at herself. She never _had_ a favourite to begin with – she never needed to think like that.)

The Californian doesn’t have to ask the blonde to know what she’s thinking, nor does she particularly want to. This is just a sparkling moment between them – _their_ moment. They take a few breaths in the quiet moment, watching each other watch other, and it’s the last thing from embarrassing. It’s calm; it’s overflowing with happiness; it’s contemplative. Alicia feels exposed, but not scrutinised. More… appreciated. Yeah, appreciated.

It’s a funny feeling. She’s never really had this with anyone else. Not to the same extent.

Elyza smiles to herself, and glances down, before shuffling herself closer to the other girl. She lays her hands down on the soft expanse of Alicia’s right thigh, before her hands curl up and her fingers tap out a rhythm the brunette can’t follow.

The Californian tenses up before she quietly shrugs her acceptance to herself; she doesn’t really care about having her leg being turned into a piano. As long as Elyza doesn’t squeeze it.

(Unfortunately, the other girl’s thighs are _very_ sensitive; she’s been tickled by her parents too many times in her childhood and she’s not all that trusting of people going near her legs. She has to remind herself, again, that Elyza is not going to pinch anything, and it helps bring her down from her tickle-induced anxiety.

Elyza’ll find out – she’ll find out a _lot_ of things, she tells herself – but this is one thing she’ll happily conceal for now. It’s counterproductive, at the very least.)

Alicia clears her throat and starts again, repeating the words she’d spoken before Elyza had so lewdly interrupted her. She verbally ticks off a list of what she knows is the plan so far.

“So – you’ve got an early shift tomorrow, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which means you’ll leave before Mikel’s awake. You won’t get a chance to see him and really sell this to him before I wake up and go to the Kitchen.”

“Yeah, _but_ –” Elyza performs a twinkling little motif on her leg, her pinkie finger tapping her kneecap a few times “—Lyndsey is a helluva lot more lenient on where I go than she is with the others. Perks of knowing each other in our past life, I guess. Anyway, I can come back at any point in the morning to speak with him if he’s still here. I’ll probably see him rushing around anyway, doing fuck knows what with fuck knows how many jobs on his hands.” Elyza scoffs quietly and adds, “I know he has, like, helpers – Florentina and Bella and Rhodes and the others – but it’s a bloody miracle he even stays in bed at night.”

Well, Elyza _does_ have a point. Mikel seems to pile all responsibilities on himself.

Alicia nods her agreement and summarises, “So you’ll see him. That’s good. Okay, tomorrow I’m helping to sort out supplies for the residency with Florentina and Matt.”

Elyza nods contentedly, the piece she’s so skilfully performing now a bit more complicated. Alicia feels somewhat like she’s being poked by insistent hands pleading for her attention. Her eyes travel down to where Elyza’s fingers tap at her, peach skin warmed by the Australian sun dancing against the blue of her jeans.

(If she’s honest, she never thought that she’d encounter any of this when she first saw the blonde. She had in mind more knives, more struggling, maybe a cigarette perched between the blonde’s teeth. Instead her leg is being assaulted by insistent tapping from an enigmatic and darkly enthusiastic Aussie the universe has connected her to. And she’s in _awe_ about it all.

God, now _this_ is a story to tell her family. Not that anyone outside of Chris and Ofelia would actually listen, anyway. As for Nick – well, he already knows. Besides, why would she tell him?)

“And cooking,” Alicia adds on. “Hopefully.” She’d be doing _something_ with her hands that would constitute helping out while she’s stuck in this place. She may not _like_ Santa Maria all too much – but it’s the least she could do, right? Anyway – “I’ll see you, Lyndsey and Mary at lunch, you’ll make sure they know the plan, and we’ll show everybody else that we’ve fallen out.” Elyza nods again. “I’ll finish up at the Kitchen, Mary will fetch me to take me over to her house, and you’ll go to Kaylo’s house— Elyza, are you actually paying attention, or are you just going to continue to perform a symphony on my thigh?”

There’s _got_ to be an innuendo in there, somewhere; Alicia blushes just in case. (It’s not every day someone pays special attention to her body parts, is it? Unless they are, obviously, a walker. And even _then_ it’s less of an appreciation for who she is, and more of a hunger for what flesh she offers.)

Elyza picks up on the opportunity, too – “I’d prefer it if you’re the one making the noises,” she winks, and Alicia is in half a mind to throw her pillows at her.

But she’s comfy like this so, no. She settles for a very light slap on the blonde’s shoulder instead.

“Shut up,” she mutters, her face now fully red, but a smile still lingers.

Elyza grins, _incredibly_ pleased with herself. “Dirty jokes aside, I _am_ actually listening to you. There aren’t any tables at the Kitchen for the workers to eat at, but sometimes Florentina and Matt will take plates away from people if they’ve finished so they can talk to their friends. You could do that too; do the rounds,” the Australian helpfully supplies. “And yeah, I’ll go to Kaylo’s house. You’ll go to Lyndsey and Mary’s. I caught up with them earlier; they’re ready to put this into effect. Kaylo’s house isn’t much but it’s enough for what _we_ want, at least. You and Mary’ll come out to the street, where you’ll meet Lyndsey and me. And then we can shout about… whatever.”

The piano piece Elyza is working through ends in a flurry of notes; the blonde adds more pressure on the last chords to accentuate the drama of it all, and then her hands spring off. After the Californian uses this temporary release to turn on her side, her hands fall onto the side of Alicia’s left thigh, this time, fingers bracketing the curve of muscle.

Alicia schools herself into not reacting and props her head up on her elbow. “What _are_ we going to argue about?”

This is the subject they’ve been actively avoiding since they hashed out all the other details. They know where Nick, Lyndsey and Mary are going to put the vehicles. They know when Nick will indicate that it’s time to go. They know everything else but this, and pretty much all of the plan is riding on them selling _this_ part. They have to make it big enough to distract Mikel; if they fail, he’ll suspect too much for them to make a move.

The thing is, neither of them want to bring up their past lives in order to sell their argument.

Truthfully, Alicia doesn’t feel like they _should_ involve their lives as Clarke and Lexa in this. She recognises they were those two people once, yeah, but Alicia and Elyza – if they ever did fall out again – would fall out for _different_ reasons. She wasn’t wrong when she first remembered everything about her past life: she has been both of them, but Alicia and Lexa _are_ different. Different personalities entirely, different people connected by the same souls, the same face, and both matter in different ways.

(There’s a reason why Elyza and Alicia remembered so much, so quickly, and so intensely: their lives, though short, though bruised and broken and torn in so many ways, were magnificent.

She thinks they could be magnificent, here, too. Magnificent, but in a different way. No warriors and leaders here, just finding the perfect balance between living and surviving.)

“Let’s _not_ draw on past experiences,” Elyza decides, wincing. “We’ve already buried the hatchet for those. Don’t think Clarke and Lexa would appreciate that, either, huh?”

The brunette nods vehemently. “Good idea. And we can’t bring Mikel into it, either.” She’d thought about it, briefly, but decided against it pretty quickly. It might give him false hope. Not to mention, it’s just plain mean. They can’t use him as a tool in a fabricated argument – not if there are alternatives.

(If there are no alternatives, then, sure. She’ll use manipulation if she has to. But they’re smart, creative, even. They can find a way.)

“Or Lyndsey, or Mary,” Elyza muses. “Cruel to them, too.” At Alicia’s affirmation, the blonde carries on brainstorming. “How about… one of us let slip something we shouldn’t have, and the other took it too personally, and it just got out of hand? And we got that pissed off each other that I’m considering busting out of here again and asking Mikel to join me?”

The Californian considers it, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she thinks. (Elyza’s eyes dart away from the action before she can catch the blonde staring.) It _could_ work, if they were more specific. Personal enough to be believable, but not connected to anything they’ve seriously argued over before.

It takes them around ten minutes, in the end, to figure it out. It is, as it was always going to be, a painful subject: family. They hash out what – and _who_ – they’re going to argue about, and what topics they’re not comfortable with discussing. Elyza’s cards are all on the table, if necessary; the other girl wants to avoid the topic of her own dad as much as is possible. (She’s spent all her life since her father’s death trying to move herself on and continue like everything’s fine for the sake of everyone else. She is so fucking grateful that the blonde doesn’t force her to continue with that.)

Throughout all this, the Aussie moves even closer to Alicia so she can offer physical reassurance. Nothing too quick for their pace of… whatever they are. Just handholding, just a close proximity. It’s what the brunette _needs_ – no, it’s what they _both_ need. The next time the Sun comes up, they’re going to be sending each other glares and spitting harsh, stinging words.

Some closeness before they tear themselves apart. But not for other people, and not out of blindness. Out of truth, out of hope. If anything, it’ll test them on their bond.

(As if they _need_ anything to test them. The fact that they’ve stayed together over potentially infinite lives in various different universes should really prove they’re doing okay.)

They jump when the door slams downstairs: it’s Mikel, finally returning for the night – who else would bang the door that goddamn loudly? It’s a relief to know he hasn’t been listening in, or heard the girls talking amicably to each other. It’ll make the whole plan far more believable. Elyza’s head, craned towards the door in her surprise, swivels back to the brunette; she sighs with resignation.

(Alicia can relate.)

“Right, I think I should sleep on the sofa tonight,” the Aussie announces quietly. “We’re selling this hard, aren’t we? I think it would help.” Another thought reveals itself to the blonde, and she pauses in her move to get off the bed. “ _And_ Lyndsey and Mary are moving their bikes out of the residency tonight. I need to be there to reassure Mikel that it’s not what it actually is.”

The Californian pouts, but has to accept it. She’d much rather Elyza _didn’t_ sleep on the sofa, to be truthful – there’s something about the other girl’s presence that just _helps_. But the leather-clad lesbian annoyingly has a point. There’s no point in contesting it. She glares at the door like a petulant child.

Elyza grins at the brunette’s pout, and clasps her thumb and finger on Alicia’s chin, gently bringing the Californian’s head up so her eyes focus on the blonde. “That was adorable, babe,” she comments, and Alicia can feel her body shiver, her face burn _again_. Elyza lets go, and the other girl sits up, to get more of her body closer to the blonde if nothing else.

Elyza notices their closer proximity, and her expression gets softer, more serious. “I won’t see you again before sunrise, Triple B, so I’ll be scowling at you next time I see your pretty little face. I’m a bloody good actor, and I know you will be too, so I’m certain we’ll sell this right. But all that – it won’t mean shit. Not the words I say, not the sneers, nothing. Don’t forget that, okay? As soon as we drop that pretence, if you need any more reassurance, I swear I will give you it. I’m not angry with you. I won’t be. It’s not real. Remember that.”

All that the Aussie is conveying here – all the sincerity in the rumbling, deep voice, the crystal clear twilight in her eyes, the beginnings of a mellow smile on soft cherry rose lips – makes Alicia’s heart trip over itself in her chest. Elyza is many things – badass, brazen, brilliant, to name just a few – but she is also so, so _considerate_. The brunette aches with how much it means to her.

“I will,” she whispers, quiet and reverent, because this is such a _lovely_ moment and Alicia wants to forget everything else. She wants to let this happiness take over everything, forever.

Elyza isn’t even done. Her eyes are sparkling with all that Alicia feels. “You mean so much to me, ‘Licia; if I didn’t know why then I’d think it was bloody ridiculous that I felt so much so quickly. But we both know why. And you are… more important to me than I think either of us realise, yet. You are taking over, and I’m _loving_ it. The world may have gone to shit now, but you make it better, you make it all _worth it_. There’s a part of me that’s scared you won’t look me in the eye again after tomorrow, but I want you to know, you make this awful world worth it.” She leans forward and gently, gently, places a soft kiss on the Californian’s forehead – Alicia swears, she _melts_ – before pushing herself off the bed. “See you on the other side, Alicia.”

The brunette misses her presence immediately; the air is colder without Elyza’s vitality next to her. She watches, tongue numb in her mouth as the blonde glides across the room, lithe as a lioness, and offers a beaming smile when the Australian wraps herself behind the door and shoots the brunette a grin before closing it with a firm click.

Then she’s gone, and the Californian is left reeling at the words just confessed to her.

She’s never felt so _loved._

It’s impossible to keep the smile off her face now. She wouldn’t want to, shouldn’t have to, anyway.

She grins to herself as she slips out of her clothes: blue jeans, a faded, branded tee-shirt, and a green jacket. (All helpfully supplied by Elyza a few days back before the brunette had even woken up, along with other clothes available for the both of them.)

She grins to herself as she dresses herself in her pyjamas.

She bites her lip and smiles as she considers whether to start noting down how her and Elyza’s story happened in the back of the soulmate book, or whether to just go to sleep. She decides on sleep.

She smiles as she hears the thundering growl of Lyndsey’s and Mary’s motorcycles as they tear down the roads.

She smiles patiently as she listens intently to the placating tone of Elyza downstairs, reassuring Mikel that Lyndsey and Mary are just going for a joy ride. Mikel seems mollified. She’s glad.

She just – she smiles. Because she can. Because, according to Elyza, she makes “this awful world worth it,” and that’s one of the most sincerely felt compliments she’s had in a while. Not to mention, it’s hugely powerful.

She feels powerful.

She treasures it, and appreciates it, appreciates _Elyza_ , and she smiles as she falls asleep.

The smile disappears as soon as she gets downstairs the next morning; it has to. No one’s around – Elyza’s already on duty, and Mikel is God knows where – but there’s always a chance of someone barging in as if they own the place. So – the smile falls off, hidden under layers of careful faux-stoicism, and she grabs the only cereal box left in the mostly preserved kitchen, eating in silence.

She’s contemplative, more than anything. She’s never met Florentina or Matt before, and she knows she’s somewhat well-known within the community, hand-in-hand with Elyza. She doesn’t know how to act around them, _especially_ now she’s got to act as if she and Elyza have fallen out.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to pull it off. But she’ll have to try anyway.

She pushes herself off her chair and idly wonders how she’s going to find the place she’s going to be working at – she’ll have to wander around like a lost puppy until someone takes pity on her, won’t she? – when her eyes fall onto a note she must have missed on the counter. On it are instructions to get to the Kitchen, written in a chicken scrawl and signed with a simple _E._ She thanks her lucky stars for the Australian’s forward-thinking and leaves Mikel’s house, the crumpled-up note in her fist and the door banging loudly behind her.

The Kitchen isn’t too far away; Mikel placed himself in an advantageous place in the residency, anyway. As Alicia understands, he’s not too far away from anything he needs to help out with – i.e. not too far away from _everything_. He certainly secured himself the better house, though.

While California got burnt, some small parts of Santa Maria survived, so the conditions of the buildings vary, but most are in an awful state. Some, the uninhabited ones, are just shells; others don’t even have roofs. Those houses, she’s learnt, are for the residents at the bottom of the food chain. When they work their way up, they’ll be transferred into better buildings as a reward. It’s what Elyza and Alicia _should_ have done.

The Sun is beating down onto the streets, and she can feel the humidity getting to her already. She scowls. Great, she just _loves_ sweating her ass off. She doesn’t expect conditions to be much better in the Kitchen, either.

(It’s going to be a long day.)

She doesn’t see many people around; it’s not bustling like she somehow still expects a city to be. There definitely _are_ people around – she passes by a couple lugging debris, and they nod and smile at her in recognition – but everyone has a job to do, a destination to reach. Besides, their jobs are more manageable in the shade.

When she reaches the Kitchen, the quiet murmur of life in Santa Maria gets louder. Elyza was right about it being the main hub for the residency; people taking a break from their jobs congregate here, kicking at the dusty, dry tarmac and conversing lightly with others. Some have a drink in their hands. Others disappear into a darkened areas and come back with more cups of water. Alicia frowns and strides forwards.

Just as she does, a tall, lean woman emerges from the enclosed structure, wiping her hands on a ratty towel. She’s dressed in a simple deep scarlet vest top (a similar colour, Alicia notes, to her own shirt) and fraying, blue cut-off jeans. It’s the kind of outfit that Alicia sees everywhere, worn by almost all the workers. But this woman doesn’t – _can’t_ – hide herself in the gathering of Santa Maria residents: there’s a quiet pride in the way she holds herself, setting her neatly apart from the others. Her shoulder-length hair is tied back, flowing back in precise strokes and spraying out of the hair tie like ink. Her chin is up, proud, and she growls at the men huddling towards the dark corner to carry on with their duties. They listen, and disperse, throwing their cups onto a pile of trash amassing next to them. The woman tuts disapprovingly at them and throws the towel onto the pile, before picking up the sounds of Alicia’s footsteps.

Her head snaps up. “You must be Alicia,” the woman announces, her voice pleasantly rich and accented with a Spanish lilt. Her sooty brown eyes dip to take all of her in, and Alicia gets the feeling she’s being examined. Not enough to worry her, just enough to let her know that this woman knows more than just the teenage girl’s name; she knows _exactly_ who Alicia is.

And, honestly, that’s the weirdest thing about their meeting so far.

Unsure what to say, the brunette nods. “This is the Kitchen, right?” she questions, and she hates how uncertain she is about life outside Mikel’s house. She wants – needs – to know. “I was told I had to work here.”

The woman (she can’t be older than 25) gifts her with a dazzling smile. “Yeah! You’re our new helper,” she confirms. The change from cool to eager is surprising, but not earth-tilting. Alicia gives her a small smile back; it’s more confident than she feels. “I’m Florentina, by the way. Your friends will have told you I work here. Matt’s in there too. Let’s go.”

Florentina turns around and heads underneath the carapace, and Alicia follows quietly.

The closer she is, the more she realises that the Kitchen is not a standalone kitchen: it’s a house. Well, it’s another _shell_ of a house, with no real roof, but the community seem to have erected a substitute and cleared the place out for someone to work in. Beyond that, they’ve extended the working area to a gazebo to offer more shade and more space for the workers to do their jobs – hence the previously mysterious nature of the place – and laid down odd tiles to offer a cleaner, more practical workspace. As she’s guided through the gazebo, she notices tables and boxes full of cutlery, and a water dispenser. (She does a double take at that, before remembering that at least half the labourers here work to produce clean water in some way. Thankfully, a few of them know a thing or two about filtering.)

Florentina leads her into the house itself; some of the walls have been knocked down to make for more space. As the brunette passes through, she sees stacks and stacks of food – literally stacked plastic containers containing perishable foods like meats; countless tin cans; packaged foods like sweets; and hardier, more brittle foodstuffs. Perhaps the most unusual features of all are the fans, hooked up to wires leading to the back of the house. They lazily buffet the food with cool air, keeping the place far chillier than outside.

Alicia is – well, she’s stumped. She has no idea how they’ve achieved this.

Florentina watches her gape and offers her an understanding, toothy smile. “We work hard here,” she offers as a way of explanation. “We hunt and raid the stores around Santa Maria. The fans keep them cool.”

“How?”

As if on cue, a short, broad man with crow black hair and growing stubble strolls into the room, holding a plucked, cleaned chicken in each of his gloved hands. His red shirt and sports shorts have blood stains on, and his sneakers have seen better days. He smells like a wood fire, which Alicia can hear crackling from the room the man has just come from. But his dark eyes are soft, welcoming, and his smile is laid-back.

Physically, he’s the furthest thing from _Alicia’s_ Matt that she knows. And she thinks that helps. She has someone else, someone _completely_ different, to associate that name with. Her ex-boyfriend won’t flash before her eyes every time she hears it.

“Alicia, yeah?” he enquires. At the brunette’s quick nod, his smile grows wider. “Great to meet ya. Can you take over stripping these chickens? One of the solar panels is playing up and I’ve gotta sort that out.” He tilts his head to the older woman, sighing. “One of those fuckers stops working every day. I’m not sure I’m even a cook anymore; all I’m doing is fixing these and not preparing any chicken. Can you teach her?”

“Of course, Matt. Let me know if you need anything,” Florentina responds brightly, and Matt grins again. She gracefully takes the chickens thrust upon her, and watches patiently as the man zips out of the room again. Looking at Alicia, she asks, “Does that answer your question?”

Alicia stares after him. “How did he get those?”

“He was here before me. He was an engineer in Santa Maria; he made sure they survived,” Florentina’s explanation isn’t much, but it is enough. She disappears from this room into the next; Alicia can see her crouch in front of the fire Matt must have been at, inspecting the dead poultry in her hands. “Are you coming through?”

Alicia’s never been… great with the ins and outs of preparing meat. She’s barely had it for herself, and not for a long time, but she’s prepared meat for other people. Of course, that was all before the end of the world; this is like going back to the Neolithic period, preparing meat by hand from the very start of the process. She’s not sure she’s comfortable with it.

It looks like she doesn’t have any choice. After setting down the chickens, Florentina washes her hands in a bowl full of steaming, soapy water and digs out a pair of latex gloves from a battered and slightly burnt box. The gloves themselves are fine, though. As the black-haired woman picks up one of the chickens, laying it down on the table, she motions for Alicia to copy her actions.

The brunette goes through the motions: washing her hands, pulling on the gloves, picking up the chicken, laying down on its back next to Florentina’s on the table. There are clean knives scattered about on the surface, so the passes one to the other woman, and grabs one herself. Swallowing down her nausea, she waits to be instructed.

She almost bails entirely when Florentina informs her they’ll be taking out the innards of the chickens. Florentina laughs, a high, pealing sound, and she comments, “Gross, right? But it won’t last long. Just be careful, listen to what I say.”

Florentina takes her through it, gentle and precise like the cuts she makes into the back of the chicken. She praises Alicia as she pushes her hands into the chicken – oh, God, it’s horrible, oh, _God_ – and scoops the viscera out. Finding the gall bladder intact and the chicken uncontaminated, Florentina guides her into removing the vent and the large intestine, and, afterwards, all the remaining organs, including the heart and the lungs. The older woman takes the intestines and throws them into a foul-smelling bag, and Alicia is assured that’ll be taken away later. Next comes the rinsing of the chicken, of the inside and of the outside, again; Florentina tells Alicia that most of the water collected for the residency is used for the cooking, and most people have rationed amounts of liquid to drink. “With the filtering implements in place, it’s manageable,” the woman continues as she pours the water through the chicken and cleans it. “It’s enough for Mikel to want to expand the residency, west and south. But not by much. We can’t do much, for now.”

Preparing the chickens takes time, but it’s not the only job Florentina has for Alicia. After washing her hands – again – the brunette is given the job of moving the hastily assembled vat used for cleaning the chicken, and assembling the apparatus and tools above the fire to cook the chickens. It looks to be an easy job, what with the various bits and pieces scattered around on the floor. Alicia’s practical. She can do this.

(In truth, she’d _much_ rather be doing this than cooking the chickens and slicing them up. She shudders.)

The brunette frowns. “Why don’t we just give the residents soup?” It’s a question that’s been gnawing at her for the whole time she’s been here – why go to the trouble of preparing fresh meat when there are plenty of supplies in the house already?

But Florentina, like always, provides an answer. “We usually do. But we want to keep morale up today. Mikel is worried people are getting angry,” Florentina shrugs. “And Jonas is gone, so. They appreciate it more when we give them cooked food, not tinned beef jerky, and so on.”

 _Ah,_ yes. The disappearance of the trigger-happy terror. Alicia steadies the poles she’s holding on the ground – luckily they have flat discs at the bottom, so they can stand up on their own – and gathers the strings in her hands that she’s fetched from the pile. She casually questions, “Why’d he go?”

Florentina studies the other girl. It’s intense enough. “He went out of the residency,” the ink-haired woman supplies her, “because he could not stop himself from misbehaving.” She pauses. “Shooting you… that was not his first warning. He cooked with us, remember. Then he went to patrol as punishment, but then he shot you. But even collecting water didn’t deter him. He didn’t like the rules; once you’re here, you’re here. You are one of ours, and you challenge that at your own risk. Now he’s on his own.”

So Jonas is out alone, most likely dead. That’s not very encouraging.

Alicia hopes, for her own sake, that her nervous swallow isn’t picked up by Florentina. Luckily, the other woman seems too engrossed in her job slicing up the chicken to notice. “What if he comes back?” the brunette asks, and she growls when the string in her nimble fingers slips down and away from the desired position. Her whole being is sweaty. She needs to submerge herself in water – maybe the whole damn ocean.

Florentina shakes her head. She looks melancholy. “He made his choices. If he had made one mistake, perhaps… He would’ve been returned. Welcomed. But no.”

And suddenly, the steady disintegrating of her hope halts at the older woman’s words. For the first time, she allows herself to wonder. Tentatively, she asks herself: _if_ the excursion to the _Abigail_ fails (and it’s firmly an _if_ in her mind), would they be allowed back into the residency? This would be their only “mistake”, wouldn’t it? And it would guarantee shelter, food, and a community – not to mention, Mikel would want to see Elyza. (Elyza, she thinks, wouldn’t exactly hate the idea either.) Is it possible? Does she want it as a back-up plan?

Truthfully, she doesn’t want _any_ back-up plan. She wants to believe in the original plan, wholeheartedly. But this isn’t a life where she knows where she will succeed. She can’t _know_ that she’s going to find her family, as much as she wants to. She can’t _know_ how things are going to work out for her. She can’t afford certainties.

Except one, she realises, and a smile threatens to spill across her face. Elyza is her inevitability – her existence, her connection to the brunette, at least. The Aussie may have to walk out on her life soon, but Alicia will always have _her_ , a concept, a goal, no matter where they are or what they’re doing.

She finds that more reassuring than she expects.

By the time Alicia finishes setting up the apparatus, Matt comes strolling in, whistling a pop song the brunette recognises. Florentina snaps at him to wash his hands, and the man corrects his movements immediately. As he washes his hands, dousing them with water from a bottle and lathering them with soap, he praises Alicia for her construction skills, and a genuine smile spreads across her face.

(She lived in suburban California. She never really had a chance to pick up camping skills. What she’s achieved comes from her pre-apocalypse media consumption, and Elyza’s post-apocalypse pointers from when the blonde taught her survival skills back at the ranch house.)

It’s the first genuine smile she’s shared today, and Florentina must have gauged its sincerity, because smiles at the sight of it.

From then on, it’s less about the outside world, and more about cooking. Matt busies himself with concocting a pot of soup. He hauls three huge pots in and ambles in and out of the room, fetching or returning cans of soup or tinned vegetables. Florentina oversees the chicken being cooked, the strips placed on a grill over the fire and watched carefully. Alicia helps out with anything Matt or Florentina need a hand in, and sorts out the cutlery over in the gazebo entrance of the Kitchen. Her instructions after that are to ready the tables so the three of them can serve soup to the labourers who are going to come here for food.

They’re cooked well in advance, but Matt makes sure the soups don’t cool down by keeping a lid over them. Then it’s the job of hoisting the pots over to the tables, and not spilling any. The brunette lets Matt and Florentina do that – there’s no way in hell she’s going to expend her energy that way. She’s still recovering, even if she feels much stronger now.

She idly wonders how on _earth_ the labourers know when to get their lunch – it’s not like there are clocks everywhere for them to keep an eye on, is there? – when suddenly there’s a loud clanging outside. It makes Alicia jump, and she drops the ladle in her hand. Outside, the person moves away from the Kitchen, the clanging getting quieter and quieter.

“Our version of a lunch bell,” Matt grins as an answer. “Scared me the first time, too.”

Alicia blushes in embarrassment and picks up her ladle again.

People start arriving then – patrollers, water carriers, rubble clearers, and so on. There are a variety of different jobs and every worker looks famished from all the exertion they have to put in. Yet Alicia, standing at the tables and dishing out the soup as she is, can immediately see the effect of having fresh chicken: the worker’s eyes light up and they incredulously repeat the statement back. (By the fifth worker, she’s desperately tired of hearing the words, “ _Fresh_ chicken?” gasped at her.) Florentina’s right; it does wonders for their morale. What little conversation the labourers grumbled to each other before they received their food now picks up – they stand or sit around, clutching their steaming bowls of soup, chatting jovially to their companions, their partners. It’s – well, it’s the closest thing to a civilised community Alicia’s seen for a long time.

Then someone new stands in front of her, expectantly holding out their bowl for soup, and the Californian looks up to find it’s Elyza. The blonde’s looking straight ahead, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Alicia. The brunette, suddenly remembering how she’s supposed to act, rolls her eyes at Elyza’s disrespect and forcefully slams down the soup into the Australian’s bowl. “Fresh chicken,” she relays monotonously, as she knows she’s supposed to do.

“I don’t care,” the blonde snaps. Alicia’s heart squeezes painfully at her sharp tone.

But then Elyza catches her eye and sends her a quick wink, before marching off as if it never happened. And the brunette is left, of course, to dither and stare after her. Much like last night, actually.

God, she’s so _weak_ when it comes to the blonde. She kind of loves it. It’s a sort of strength that it gives her.

She watches, broody longing on full display, as Elyza swaggers down onto the rest of the house’s drive to find their two confidants, Lyndsey and Mary. Both of the patrollers have already got their soup; they sit down on the hard ground, legs flayed out before them, keeping each other upright. They whisper to each other in close proximity and low tones until Elyza smirks at them in lieu of a greeting and they receive her enthusiastically.

They pull the charade off, the three of them, with far more dedication that Alicia expected. The three women are slightly apart from everyone else, so no one’s capable of listening in, but everyone pays attention to Elyza’s guffaw at Mary’s joke, which markedly stops short when Lyndsey asks about Alicia and points to the girl in question. The Aussie stares at the brunette with everything _except_ affection in her eyes, and Alicia narrows her eyes at the blonde before returning her focus back to the person in front of her.

She can’t stop thinking about that wink. She swears, that’s the only way she wants to depart this life. Death by flirtatious Aussie.

Alicia is the only person who saw the wink, thank God. Matt squints at her and wonders, “Everything okay with you and your girlfriend?”

 _Girlfriend._ That’s a bit premature. For show, Alicia scoffs and relays in a downcast tone, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Florentina picks up on the conversation as the customer leaves with a bowl full of soup. “Trouble in paradise?” the black-haired woman frowns, concerned.

The brunette does appreciate their concern. It’s a sign that humanity still resides here, even _if_ it’s slightly troubling that her relationship with the Aussie seems to be the talk of the town. Maybe it’s a sign that people, end of the world or not, will still gossip like their lives depend on it.

Personal opinions on the spread of news in Santa Maria aside, Alicia remembers the two girls have a job to do in convincing others about their supposed fall out. She feels bad for lying to Matt and Florentina, who are by all accounts incredibly lovely people, but she pushes on. She huffs dejectedly and explains, “Our argument got out of control. I said something she didn’t like, and it just got… personal. She doesn’t agree that there are different ways to grieve.”

(Dad. Matt. Liza. Griselda. So many, so many more.)

“Sucks,” Matt winces. No one else seems to be waiting for soup; he drops his ladle into his pot and adds, “You two are good together. You’ll sort it out.” He moves away to fetch three bowls, for the three cooks.

The women receive their bowls from their colleagues – Alicia says thanks with a particularly heavy smile – and there’s a happy silence as they eat. The food’s pretty good, solid stuff, though knowing she had to disembowel what she’s eating kind of detracts from the enjoyment.

It doesn’t look like that’s unnerving anyone else. All sorts of people have come to eat their lunch here – the young, the older, and the even younger. There’s a couple who warily track the antics of a ten year old boy and his fourteen year old sister; they keep running and running around, and the woman’s pleas of _just_ sitting down and getting some food are left unheard. Across from them, to Alicia’s right – the closest people to Elyza, Lyndsey and Mary – three guys chatter loudly as they eat their soup. They’re providing a human pillow for their exhausted friend (a water carrier, most likely), and the volume of their conversation has absolutely no effect whatsoever on his sleep. He’s out for the count.

And so it goes. People eating, drinking, talking, relaxing. They relish the hot food in front of them, even in the summer sun, like a family gathering taking the opportunity just to be together. It’s so damn _normal_ that Alicia’s head short-circuits for a second and she forgets they’re all here because there’s nowhere better for them to go. With so much life around her, she forgets this is even the end of the world.

It’s startling, she thinks, how changed her perspective is since she arrived here, since she cursed everything living under the sun when she was in so much pain, so much fucking _pain_. She was ready to dismiss all of the Santa Maria residents as faceless bodies, people she would never really care for. But what she sees, right in front of her, is the humanity she thought everyone she left behind. Her opinion of the residents has been completely changed. She could see herself staying here, definitely.

Then she spots Elyza again, her eyes gravitating to the stunning, shining blonde like it’s as natural as breathing, and everything comes rushing back. The reality of life, the connection with the Australian that she has.

She doesn’t return to feeling indifferent towards the residents, not at all. But she was wrong to think she’s only just found humanity here. It’s been staring at her in the face the whole time, in the form of a woman with eyes like the sky.

Florentina licks her lips and weighs in on the subject, dragging Alicia’s focus back to the cook. “This place is home now. You’ll have some stability. And then you can heal your bond. From my own experience, living in Santa Maria helped; there is nothing outside here for me anymore, and it was hard, but the community here helped.” She smirks and adds, “I won’t pretend everyone here is an angel. You can’t be in this world. But what we’re given – it’s better than anything outside of the residency walls.”

Alicia disagrees. “I have something outside of Santa Maria,” she admits. The ladle in her hand slips into the almost empty pot, finished with. “My family – my group. I lost them. My brother’s here, but… my mom…”

It’s hard to articulate exactly how she feels about her family life, and the people in it. It also feels _weird_ to talk about them to people other than Elyza and Nick. But she feels like she’s tied to them. Maybe by history, and always by blood. She just doesn’t want to leave them behind, and she hopes they won’t leave her behind, too. They’ve done that enough in her life already – this may actually be a chance for them to correct that.

Funny, that. It figures that it’d take the literal end of the world for her fractured family to consider her again.

Florentina gazes at her with unbridled understanding. (Alicia thinks she may have actually made a friend here, _without_ the help of a previous soulmate life.) “Unlucky,” the ink-haired woman notes, and it’s all she needs to say, really.

Matt swallows the piping hot soup and comments cheerily, “Nothing like a bit of working yourself into the ground to help you forget your family issues! That’s what most of us have escaped in here, anyway. You should thank Mikel for making that happen.”

“Matt,” Florentina chastises, “don’t be rude about Mikel, he works just as hard as us.”

The happy-go-lucky cook grins cheekily. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you’ve got a crush on him,” he claims, and hops out of reach to cover his back. “I’ll take clearing up duty!”

Alicia twists to gauge Florentina’s reaction – because isn’t _that_ a relieving piece of news – but the older woman scowls and blushes. “I’m 20, I’m too old for this,” she mutters, and it makes Alicia smile despite herself. That seems to be the intention, because the scowl is gone from Florentina’s face almost immediately. “Go, go. Help Matt clear up. He always finds someone to talk to and forgets he is meant to be doing his job.”

Oh, she doesn’t mind if she does. She’s been looking for an excuse to talk to Elyza, Lyndsey and Mary ever since lunch started. She nods sagely and puts down her finished bowl of soup, then moves from behind the table and wanders complacently over to various people to collect their dishes. Only half say thanks; the others are too caught up in their conversation to notice her. Matt, just like Florentina predicted, has sat down with the four guys, talking to all of them now the sleeping labourer has woken up.

By the time she reaches her target, the Aussie has moved off to another gathering of people – the couple, the children and their friends. The brunette looks over and sees Elyza with her jacket off, proudly showing off her tattoos to the fourteen year old. Her little brother is just as interested, considering he keeps running around the blonde, poking at her other tattoos and excitedly exclaiming about them.

(Honestly, Alicia can relate to that kid. Elyza’s tattoos _are_ fascinating. Some of them look like her own designs, too. She’ll have to ask about them another time.)

“Do you know why I can tell you and Elyza wouldn’t last very long if you two fell out?” Lyndsey greets her, and Alicia blinks, snapping her head back to the doctor. At the brunette’s curious gaze, Lyndsey finishes, “Because you two are _heavy_ on the longing looks, and you’re technically not even dating yet. Imagine when you’re fully established!”

The other girl’s eyes glaze over as she goes over this information. Lyndsey looks on with a satisfied beam, arm on her girlfriend’s shoulder. Her head rests on the glossy black hair of Mary’s head, tucked in between the doctor’s chin and her collarbone.

“There’d probably be singing under someone’s window just to say sorry,” Mary grins. “Let’s be real; that’d be Elyza, she’s so annoyingly _good_ at musical shit.”

Alicia’s head twists to the side as she nods. She can’t really argue with that. “Let’s hope we don’t _actually_ fall out,” she gives them. She holds out her hands for the two women’s bowls – Mary gives them to her, clean and stacked by her feet. “Thanks. You two know what’s happening today, right?”

“Obviously,” Mary answers, and Lyndsey taps her slightly to chide her.

“Yeah, Elyza gave us all the details,” the doctor confirms. Her voice is hushed, giving nothing away to the others around them. “We’re packed and ready to go, and so is Nick. He’s getting your and Elyza’s stuff to put in our house and Kaylo’s, I think. I’m going with Elyza to Kaylo’s house after lunch, when Nick gets the truck, and you’re going to our house. ‘Lyza and I are going to hang out on the street as we wait for you, ‘cause we know you’ve got duties you need to finish off. And then after you two _fight_ —” she makes speech marks with her fingers “— and Nick tells us that everything’s ready to go, we’re going to go back to our houses, get our belongings, and hike off while Mikel’s distracted. Is that what you’ve been told?”

“Yeah, something like that,” the other brunette confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be too long; Florentina knows about me getting shot.” They all wince, painfully reminded of Lexa. “She knows she needs to let me go sooner rather than later.”

“Then it’s all sorted!” Mary beams. “See you later then, yeah? Cossa Court; I’ll be waiting for you there.”

Clearing up and preparing the food for storage takes less time than Alicia expected – mostly because Florentina and Matt take over. They work in tandem, flowing past each other like gears, making sure the other keeps working. Aside from passing them the odd thing to either cook, or reaching places Matt can’t reach, Alicia doesn’t think her presence is entirely necessary. It’s a relief, though; her body is starting to ache from all the work she’s done and her sentences keep stumbling together. She welcomes the chance to sit down in front of a fan, to get a breather.

Although it becomes a little less relaxing when she hears the unmistakeable sound of the truck in the distance. She knows it’s Nick. She also knows Mikel never authorised Nick to drive any of the vehicles. She hopes desperately that Santa Maria’s leader is far too busy to catch him up.

Eventually, Florentina releases her for the day, with a hug and a heartfelt, “Thank you!” while Matt sends her a little salute. The brunette smiles back and, again, wishes she didn’t have to lie to these two lovely people. The journey back is then filled with Alicia cursing the niceness of some of the residents, for making this harder for her to leave. She has to resolve herself with the reality of the situation, with the fact that she may have to come back here anyway, and it’s a little better. She still feels shit about lying to them, but, still. It’s a little better.

She doesn’t know Cossa Court, but she tiredly follows the remaining signs to what, she works out, _must_ be the street even if the street sign has disappeared. It’s a nice little cul-de-sac with medium-sized homes, ruined partially like a lot of the places round here. (They’ve been tarnished by the aftermath of the apocalypse, it’s such a shame.) In front of her, Mary jumps up from leaning against the porch of one of the houses, smile twisted into a smirk.

It’s become very, very difficult for Alicia to view this person, this soul, from Lexa’s perspective: what memories the Commander had of Octavia are few and far between – unlike Clarke and Raven – and Octavia was so _different_. Mary is a badass with motorcycles in her garage. Octavia was just a kid, really, putting on a brittle mask and trying hard to find a place where she belonged. Mary doesn’t have to try, she just _fits._ There’s an easy grace in everything she does.

“Your stuff’s here, don’t worry. They’re in the house. Ready to knock this out of the park?” Mary greets her, her grin slowly morphing into a smirk.

“I better be,” Alicia responds wryly, and the Santa Maria resident chuckles.

The brunette doesn’t recognise the streets they walk down, which doesn’t surprise her. She’s been knocked out for half a day, semi-paralysed for a few more days, and barely able to walk until a couple of days ago. Not only that, but this is to the west of the residency, where Alicia hasn’t been before. She barely knows the borders as it is. When Mary realises this, she details the streets and where the important locations in the residency are: the Kitchen, the Water Station at the park, and the high school that acts as Mikel’s work and administration office. Alicia’s exhausted; her head spins with all this new information, but she thinks she can process it. She thinks.

She has to ask the other woman what street they’re on again. So maybe not.

Frustratingly fragile grip on Santa Maria’s geography aside, it doesn’t take that long for them to reach Elyza and Lyndsey. Mary’s a fast walker, and this only increases when she gets nervous or excited about something. This time, it’s both – nervous to escape, obviously, but also eager to hear the brunette recounting the story of when Alicia and Elyza had a swordfight. Alicia gets into it, too, and the exhilaration she remembers from the battle gives her a new lease of life. She physically feels like she’s just run a marathon, _but_ her mind is alert and focused, obviously the most important thing for what’s about to happen.

Elyza and Lyndsey are there already, chatting unconcernedly on what she’s been told is the drive of Kaylo’s house. (She’s never actually met this Kaylo guy. He sounds nice, though.) They’re not the only ones on the road: other people, workers who’ve completed their shift for the day, or residents looking after others – they also enjoy the sun and continue clearing out some of the rubble they still keep finding in the houses. Alicia regards them, satisfied with the presence of a crowd, and turns her attention back to her friends. Arms folded, Elyza’s jacket is back on despite the summer heat – her tattoos are out of sight, and her pistol sits snugly in its holster. Lyndsey looks much the same, though her arms are braced on her hips, and her eyes are now concealed by her sunglasses – sunglasses, Alicia notes, that are coincidentally identical to Elyza’s.

“We did good, didn’t we?” Mary grins, and the brunette has no idea what the Santa Maria resident is talking about for about three seconds. Then she realises – _oh,_ she’s talking about Elyza and Lyndsey – and she rolls her eyes affectionately.

Because, yeah. They did.

Alicia swallows. She acutely knows what’s at stake now. The two girls keep moving forward, her Converses slapping the concrete quieter than Mary’s gigantic, glossy boots, and they keep quiet. Mary steps fall behind her.

 Forward, forward. Left, right.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” she hears Elyza curse, and her head whips around to see the blonde glaring at her.

Lyndsey sighs. “’Lyza, leave it. Now’s not the—”

Then the Aussie storms over to Alicia, stopping her in her path in the middle of the road. Elyza’s fists are clenched, her jaw tight, and her eyes – her _eyes_ – in her eyes are a thousand hurricanes, lightning crashing. If danger was a human, Elyza would be her.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” the blonde warns, voice rumbling quietly.

Back straight, chin up, the Californian thinks. “This isn’t your _territory_ , Elyza,” she spits out. “I can walk where I want.”

By now Lyndsey has stomped over, frustration just as evident. She’s a storm, too; Alicia’s witnessing the beginnings of a cyclone. “Will you two stop acting like goddamn morons for _one—_ ”

“Not now, Lyndsey,” Elyza snaps, head turned to its side. She regards the brunette again with rage. “It’s bad enough seeing you at lunch, but now you have the bloody _nerve_ to look for me, too?” Her volume has risen – a few people look up from their ministrations and watch with curiosity.

A part of Alicia resents this. Great, she thinks drily, everybody come and watch the show! Santa Maria’s star-crossed lovers are having a row! She realises then that Romeo and Juliet did _not_ end well – she did this at the start of high school, she should _remember_ – and resolves to never name herself and Elyza after that tragedy again.

Alicia closes her eyes, breathes out, as if to steady herself. “I came to _find_ you… to say sorry,” she responds tersely.

“Shit,” Lyndsey murmurs, surprised. The Californian doesn’t know whether it’s part of her acting, or if she’s genuinely worried that this will go wrong.

The Australian laughs. Her face snaps back into its current fury when she sees Alicia still staring at her with narrowed eyes. “You can’t be serious?”

Alicia huffs, rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms. “Well, _one_ of us has got to grow up and act maturely. It’s disrupting… everything, and God knows we have to settle down if we want to stay here. So take the damn olive branch, Elyza. Do yourself and everyone else a favour.”

Elyza scoffs, squinting her eyes at the sky for about ten seconds before rolling on the balls of her feet and tilting her head at the other girl. “Nope,” she answers, popping the _p_. (Alicia realises she’s not supposed to be looking at the Aussie’s lips.)

“ _No_?” she repeats, eyebrow arched high.

Mary groans. “Jesus, Elyza, just wait for Mikel to sort this out, _please_. His house is literally around the corner, he can—”

“Yeah,” the blonde interrupts. “It’s a no from me. Do you know why?”

Alicia shakes her head mutely. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices that people have started gathering around them, shocked and intrigued by these turn of events.

“ _Because_ ,” Elyza starts, boots crunching the gravel beneath her foot as she stalks slowly towards the other girl, “you don’t believe in it.” _Crunch._ “Because that apology won’t mean _shit_ to either of us.” _Crunch._ “Because at the end of the day —” _Crunch._ The Australian is _very_ close to the brunette now. _Very_ close. Oh, God. Alicia can hear their barely contained breathing. “— you still said what you _really_ think. You still told me you thought my way of grieving was _childish._ You thought _I_ … was childish. By a girl _younger_ than me, who lived on a fucking boat for months. Do you know what that feels like, to be mocked like that?”

Alicia kind of really hates this.

Lyndsey is whispering urgently to a man in a green tank top now. He nods quickly and scampers off. Good. She knows Mikel will be on his way now. From the direction the man ran in, the residency’s leader is in his house.

Alicia hates this, but she figures it’s time to _really_ put on a show. She pretends something inside of her just – _snaps_ , and she deliberately twists her knowledge on Elyza’s family to get a reaction out of the blonde _._ “Do _I_ know?” she snarls incredulously. “Elyza, you were brought up with a silver spoon. I was forced to make my own way. I was sheltered by my parents, and then _ignored_ when everything got a bit too hard. I was barely told what was happening with Nick even though I was the one who cared for him! I was just told to stay in school, be a good girl, work hard and do your job, while you had everything handed to you on a _plate._ ”

She remembers trashing hat expensive house with Chris, when things were just a little more normal. She remembers dressing up in the expensive clothes, enjoying all the material things they never got to have. She remembers the _resentment_ she felt, because those people lived so well and could do so much – and they _never_ got that privilege. She hated the fact that they never got it, and they never _would_ get it. She hated everything about society going to shit. That was why she threw the bottle. That was why they got out of control.

Yet, one look at Elyza, and she knows: people are not their wealth.

“Oh, shut up,” Elyza laughs. “We were both neglected kids, and you know it. You don’t get to pull the shit family card on me. My dad was on the other side of the world, yet somehow that doesn’t constitute as heart-breaking enough? That’s bullshit.”

She’s relieved to see Nick skulking across the road, a deep frown set on his face. He looks confused, but not enraged. He slinks through the gradually growing crowd like water. “Guys, you’re making a scene,” he sighs as he reaches them. “Do this somewhere else if you’re gonna go for each other’s throats.”

He nods inconspicuously at Lyndsey and Mary, and the relief in Alicia’s bones strengthens. But she doesn’t acknowledge him; she _can’t._ She keeps glaring at Elyza.

“I’m not alone in the blame,” the brunette retorts.

“Would you _both_ just—”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” the Aussie scoffs. “What I said was _justified_.”

“Knock it _o_ —”

Alicia moves away, unravelling her arms and curling her fingers in her supposed frustration. “How can calling me an “arrogant brat” be justified?” she almost yells. “How can sneering at my “nerdy, goody-two-shoes nature” be _justified?_ We _both_ said things we regret, Elyza. The _least_ you could do is admit that.”

She _hates_ this.

“What the hell is going on here?” she hears, and silently thanks the universe for putting an end to this faux-argument. Mikel marches up to them, the crowd dispersing at his sullen glare. “This is irresponsible! Both of you are acting like _children_ right now—”

“Oh, _great!_ ” Elyza exclaims. “Not you too. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“ _Elyza_ ,” the Santa Maria leader barks. Surprisingly, Elyza shuts up. “This is _ridiculous._ You two are throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street! How old are you?”

“I came to say sorry,” Alicia insists.

“And I’m not ready for apologies,” the blonde snaps, eyes focused back on the other girl. “I thought you were more perceptive than that, Triple B.”

“Why didn’t you just _tell her that_?” Nick sighs.

“Alright!” Mikel shouts again. ”Elyza, you’re coming with me. You two clearly aren’t going to calm down while you’re together—”

“Wait, no, we can handle this,” Mary interrupts, clamping her hand around Alicia’s arm. “I can take her back to our house and talk to her. Lynds can take Elyza, and talk to her then.”

Mikel clenches his jaw, stands his grounds. “Or, how about Elyza goes with me?” Mikel challenges. “Leader’s orders.”

 _Shit._ The panic starts blossoming inside – this complicates things.

“Kaylo wanted to see you, remember?” Lyndsey firmly responds, knocking the idea out of Mikel’s head. “Something about treating Sara’s wound? I don’t think Elyza’s in the right state of mind to deal with that. Please; we’re their friends. Just leave it to us.”

It takes a few seconds of Mikel gloomily scrutinising the faces of the circle of people – his eyes flicker from Elyza to Alicia, to Nick, to Mary and Lyndsey – for him to decide. He clears his throat and announces, “Elyza stays with Lyndsey. And you’ll talk about it when you’ve _both_ calmed down. Leader’s orders.”

He doesn’t stay for niceties, doesn’t need to bother. He swivels and marches away in the direction of Sara’s house – north east, forwards to distraction and away from their houses. Alicia wants to collapse on the floor – she’s got herself wound so tight and she _needs_ to release this – but they’re all aware there are still eyes on them. They can’t drop the pretence straightaway.

As soon as Mikel is out of earshot, the doctor turns around and quickly but quietly addresses the group. “Right. Mary and I will go to our house, get our bags and run down here. You two: your belongings are already in Kaylo’s house, with Nick’s. Nick: go in with them, so others can see you’ve got this “situation” under control. Wait for us to arrive, and then we’ll go, okay?”

All nod their heads. Elyza addresses the two other women with a simple, “Be quick, yeah?”

Lyndsey and Mary nod, and depart hurriedly, hands linked and strides brisk. Nick wastes no time, either, tapping the remaining girls’ shoulders and pushing them forward towards Kaylo’s house. Alicia just takes it, keeping her jaw clenched until the door is shut behind them and finally, finally there is no one there to watch them.

This whole soulmate debacle may not have provided a psychic link, but it may as well have: as soon as the door closes, Elyza takes off her sunglasses and opens her arms just as Alicia barrels into her. The blonde is a deeply comforting kind of warm, and her arms are tight around the Californian. She has one hand in the brunette’s hair, delicately stroking the strands as they hug, and murmurs placating phrases in response to Alicia’s muttered apologies.

Alicia is so, so thankful that all the arguing is over.

Lyndsey was right. They’re pretty terrible at arguing.

When they let go, she’s glad to see constellations in those blue, blue eyes instead of the previous clouded lightning. Elyza is rough around the edges, but soft in her arms, and her voice, though gravelly, doesn’t hold any of the venom from their last conversation. “You okay there?”

The other girl nods. Her fingers curl around Elyza’s waist even more, and she breathes out. “Just to clarify – I am fully aware that what I was said about your family and your upbringing was factually incorrect. I don’t think you’re childish, either.”

“Thank you, Miss Dictionary,” the blonde quips, and Alicia rolls her eyes. “Also, I don’t think you’re an arrogant brat. Or that being intelligent is bad. I mean, it got you far, didn’t it? Besides, it’s hot.” Elyza grins at her, then, and despite herself, the brunette laughs.

That’s the Elyza she knows. She definitely prefers this to angry, vengeful Elyza.

Oh, she’s so damn _relieved_ about not having to pretend she hates the blonde. Because she really, really doesn’t hate this Aussie, not at all. She doesn’t think she ever could – ever _did_. Has she been frustrated with her? _Absolutely._ But that was never hatred; mistrust, and hurt, but never hatred.

(Mikel’s words come back to her: _Elyza’ll either make you love her or envy her._ He’s not been correct about most things, but that statement, she knows, is definitely true.)

“Now you two have finished being lovey-dovey,” Nick interrupts, “you can get your belongings. Weapons, food, and your extra bag, Elyza.”

Alicia detaches herself from the Australian, staring coolly at her brother. Honestly, she’s finding it hard to believe that he’s being the voice of reason. “Have you got the soulmate book?”

“I realised you’d probably shout at me if I left it behind, so it’s in Elyza’s extra bag,” he supplies.

“ _Thank_ you,” she smiles gratefully. Truthfully, it’s the only possession she really cares about, besides her sword, which – her heartrate picks up when spots it, she can’t _believe_ she found it – is lying flat on Kaylo’s sofa, undamaged and retrieved successfully from Mikel’s house. She gravitates towards it and gently puts the sword’s strap over her shoulder, securing it with a few tugs, adjusting to the feel of the sword in its scabbard on her back. She remembers the little gear-like symbol on its hilt, the sign of the Commander, and smiles to herself.

Elyza is just as enamoured with her weapons; she goes through her huge weapons bag, checking the ammunition hasn’t been damaged in any way. Then she inspects her three knives, nestled comfortably in their holders. As a last minute decision, she hands two of them to Alicia, helping the Californian with tying their corresponding holsters to her thigh, and her hip. After that, the blonde quickly rummages through her other bag, making sure her art supplies are also undamaged, that she has everything she needs.

Then they’re ready to go, waiting anxiously for Lyndsey and Mary to knock on the door. Nick lounges on the sofa, tapping an unknown song onto his thighs. Alicia sits stoically, eyes glazed over. Elyza moves about, pacing back and forth in the well-lit living room, a burst of mumbling exploding from her mouth every half a minute.

“Elyza, your pacing is distracting me,” Nick mutters, scowling down at his hands. He restarts the rhythm, without much luck.

Apparently, even an anxious wait is still the perfect opportunity for the Aussie to deliver a wisecrack. “I’m always distracting,” she smirks. “Just ask Alicia.”

The brunette in question has flashbacks to the clothes store she and Elyza raided, to the flannel Elyza teased her about and her accidental checking out of the blonde. There are a thousand other memories she has, too, of moments when she’s been distracted by Elyza – which is impressive considering she’s only known the Australian for 13 days.

She scowls dramatically at the leather-clad lesbian. “That’s not fair, you can’t use that against me,” she protests.

Elyza’s grin only gets _wider._ “Oh, Triple B, you should _know_ I like to play dirty.”

Well, fuck. She should be better at this, at deflecting all the quips and flirtations Elyza throws her way. They’re soulmates; she should be _better at this._

Alicia narrows her eyes at the other girl, but a smile is threatening to spread across her face, and her cheeks are beginning to warm. She is _terrible_ at this.

Nick grunts in displeasure. “That _is_ my little sister you’re talking about. No guy wants to hear about his little sister’s love life.”

The other Clark rolls her eyes, and twists to face her brother. “I had to hear about all the shit you put into your body for years,” she reminds him sharply. “You don’t get a say in this.”

He shrugs defensively. “I’m clean now, aren’t I?”

“Only because the world literally ended,” she reasons.

He shuts up, because he knows she’s right. Good.

Before anything else can be thought or said, however, three brusque knocks on the door sound. Elyza jumps into action, while Nick and Alicia stare at it, anxious; the blonde strides over and yanks the door open to find Lyndsey and Mary, a bag on their backs each, and a giant set of cutters in Mary’s hands. Alicia doesn’t catch what the doctor says, but she imagines it’s along the lines of, “Hurry the hell up!” because Elyza motions urgently for the two Clarks to collect their stuff and go. The Aussie hauls on her weapons bag, and Alicia takes the “extras bag” off her; Nick, on the other hand, elects to take the food, the only possessions he really has. As they ready themselves, Mary swings her bag off her shoulders and hauls a denim jacket out of it, wordlessly passing it to Alicia and just quirking her eyebrow when the brunette tries to give it back.

“Believe me, you’ll need something on your arms at night,” Lyndsey explains for her.

Oh. Right, of course. Alicia thanks the two of them, and with all their belongings assembled, they leave Kaylo’s house and set off towards the south east border of the residency. Alicia and Elyza keep their distance, aware of the show they’ve been putting on for the past day. The others cotton on, inserting themselves between the two girls.

It’s all for keeping up appearances, she knows, but Alicia can’t help but want Elyza by her side. She feels strong on her own – well, right now, she feels physically exhausted, but that’s beside the point – yet with the Australian next to her, she feels safe, too.

On the third street they hurry down, cautiously glancing at any houses they know are lived in, or anyone who they spot, Alicia has the revelation that she has absolutely no clue where is. “Wait – where are we going?” she whispers. “Just in case we have to split up.”

“East Main Street, where it leaves Santa Maria,” Mary informs her, hushed. “It snakes away from Santa Maria and goes south east. If we go quickly, we have a whole stretch of road to make real ground on.”

“So if we’re at least at the border by the time Mikel gets back from Sara’s house and finds out, we’re in the clear anyway. We don’t even have to be at the border, even, just far enough away for us to escape in time,” Nick explains at the same volume. “It’ll take him 15, 20 minutes to get down here if he runs.”

“We have to pray he’s not found out before, then,” his sister grimaces. “How long will it take us?”

“It’ll take us longer if we don’t shut up and hurry up,” Elyza reminds them.

She has a point.

The route they’ve taken is lengthier than the quickest route; it adds around three minutes to their journey, but they want to avoid as many patrollers as possible. The way the roads have been made, though, means that it’s impossible not to run into the long before they arrive at their destination. Strangely, the place is deserted.

“I know Darcy avoids Main Street like the plague,” Lyndsey murmurs, “because she used to live there. But this is unusual. Isn’t Rhodes usually on here?”

She’s not sure if it’s a good sign or not. It’s probably not a good sign for Mikel, if _Rhodes_ , one of his top colleagues, is slacking on his duties. But she hopes it will work out for the escaping group and not come back to bite them in the ass.

However, they quicken their pace and reach their destination without any interruptions. She knows they’re at the border because they’ve been walking parallel to a mismatched patchwork of a wall for the last five minutes, and this is where it changes direction, turning north, to enclose them in. They stop to catch their breath and Alicia immediately collapses on the floor, the bag and sword on her back weighing her down too much. Elyza sits with her, letting the brunette lean on her for support, while Nick, Lyndsey and Mary retrieve their vehicles from the parking lot of a site attached to the road, the penultimate building before the wall separates them from the outside world. Alicia watches them, her breathing shallow from all the exercise she’s done today.

It’s intriguing; to anyone who lived at least a year before the dead started walking, the presence of cars in a parking lot looks completely normal, even now. They blend into the sandy-brown background, hidden in plain sight. Still, Alicia can’t quite believe Lyndsey and Mary left their treasured motorbikes there for a whole night.

“You okay there, babe?” Elyza murmurs, giving her a quick inspection.

Alicia nods, too tired to speak, and burrows her head further into the blonde’s shoulder. She can feel the smile on Elyza’s face even without seeing it.

Lyndsey and Mary leave the motorbikes with the girls, as Nick pulls Ark into view. Elyza is eager to welcome the Ark’s return, Alicia knows, but the blonde restrains herself, instead staring at the truck dopily while Nick hops out and watches the other women run to the wall. Lyndsey and Mary stand there inspecting the chains and the wood of the wall – wasting at least twenty seconds, Alicia notes worriedly – before Mary hoists her cutters and get to work on the metal holding the two slabs of wall together.

“What about walkers? Won’t they be able to stagger in after us?” Nick wonders out loud.

Elyza shrugs. “Some of the patrollers may be shit at their job, but they know how to deal with walkers quickly. They can survive if anything happens. Besides, someone will find this sooner or later and figure out how to fix it.”

Alicia hopes they find this _after_ she and their group are safely out of the way.

And then it all falls apart.

“Put those cutters down _now_!”

The brunette whips their head around to find Mikel, gun in hand, bent over and panting for breath. She stands up immediately, Elyza not a second behind her. Nick puts up his hands, but Mary and Lyndsey just continue, a satisfying _CLINK_ and a crash of the wall falling partially apart signifying their success.

God, they were _so close._

“So you’re going, then?” he asks morosely, stopping Alicia’s train of thought completely. “That’s it?”

Alicia frowns in confusion.

“We never expected to stay, you know this,” Elyza responds. “This was never my place – never _our_ place.”

“I wanted you to be here,” he states. His voice is flat, like he’s disappointed but not surprised. “I thought you were going to…”

The Australian shakes her head. “What you had in your head was very different to reality. People have lives outside of here. You can’t control that, Mikel. You can’t control that.” She regards him forlornly. “This was never my place.”

“It could be,” he asserts. “What if this goes wrong? What if it’s too late?”

Alicia doesn’t want to think about that.

“Then we’ll figure out a plan from there,” she supplies. “This is our goal, Mikel. You can’t stop it. We have to at least try.”

There’s no dislike for the brunette in his eyes, not now. It’s just heavy resignation; his whole body sags with the weight of it all. He lowers his arms, lets the gun drop on the floor. It rings in the silence. “You can have a backup plan,” he states. “Come back here. You’ll be welcomed here. I’ll make sure of it.”

Wait.

Is he seriously not obstructing them? He’s just… letting them go?

“You – you would?” Elyza mumbles, just as shocked as Alicia is. Just as shocked as the rest of them are.

“Yes,” Mikel informs them. “Things will be different: I won’t be the leader anymore; that’s for sure. There have been dissenters ever since I took control. People in higher places.” He glares at Lyndsey and Mary, then, who regard him impassively as they approach the rest of the group. “I thought by keeping them close, I could keep you on my side, but that hasn’t worked.”

“We’re in the same boat as these guys, Mikel,” Lyndsey nods to Alicia, Elyza and Nick. “We always were. We have people to get back to, remember? We were happy to help you, but it was only ever going to be temporary. You have to understand that. You can’t… restrict people so much, and not expect disagreement.”

The Santa Maria leader nods. “The offer is extended to you, too. Both of you. You’re free to return as you please. I will give up my position here – _happily_ – if it means you’re welcomed if you return. I promise, I will do what I can to make sure you’re allowed this.”

Lyndsey gives Mikel a brilliant smile, and Mary dips her head in thanks. “Appreciated, but not necessary,” she tells him.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you letting us go?” Nick enquires, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

Mikel shrugs. “Because I was wrong. Do I need another reason?”

That seems to mollify the older Clark. Elyza isn’t satisfied.

The Santa Maria resident sees this, he _knows_ this, and he answers her unvoiced cynicism. “It’s also because I should let everyone move on, including myself. I trapped you here without your permission, and forced you to get along with me. That’s not how I pictured our reunion to be like. What I pictured wasn’t what happened, and the reality is that you don’t need me. So I’m letting all that go. Me saying you can return is me attempting to say sorry and attempting to make up for what I did, for a friend, and her friends. For her loved ones. This is my apology. Take it if you wish.”

Lyndsey is the first one to step forward and give him a hug. It’s a firm, brisk one, accompanied by a genuine thank you from both parties. Mary’s next, with a dramatic drop of the cutters and a tight clasp of their arms around each other. “Thank you for giving us a home,” she gratefully relays.

“It was my pleasure,” he responds, and it sounds genuine.

Then it’s Elyza’s turn. Alicia’s always been confused by where the blonde stands with the Santa Maria leader, and this only deepens. It’s clear from her goodbye, though, that it’s based mostly on mutual respect. The hug they share is quick – more for Mikel’s benefit than anything else, the brunette infers from the brusqueness of it – and the Australian claps him twice on the back. “Thanks, mate,” is all she gives him. “See you around, maybe?”

“Maybe.” His next words are to Alicia and Elyza together; he gives Alicia a quick nod and tells them, “You two take good care of each other, okay? And you too, Nick. Stay safe out there.”

The brunette feels like that’s all she’s going to get from him, so in return, it’s only fitting she says at least _one_ thing. “Of course.” Nick doesn’t say anything, but he salutes. It’s enough for Mikel to smirk and salute back.

There are no more goodbyes left for Mikel to make, no point in waiting about. He looks at the group despondently, for the last time, and then turns away.

They watch, as he makes the turn onto the adjacent road, and disappears. It’s quiet.

“Do you forgive him?” Alicia asks Elyza. She can’t help it; she’s curious.

Elyza snorts. “No. He trapped us here against our will and treated you like shit. That’s not gonna make me warm me up to anyone.”

Amen to that.

The goodbyes are for everyone else, then: Mary, Elyza and Lyndsey share a long hug, exchanging promises to stay safe (“and kick ass,” Elyza tags on, and all three women laugh). Nick gets a fist bump from both Lyndsey and Mary, and moves away to bring the Ark to life after assuring Elyza that he’ll wait to follow her to Port Hueneme. Mary’s hug with Alicia is tight, but the brunette laughs and tells the glossy haired badass that yes, she will make good use of the sword on her back.

Lyndsey’s hug is less – well, suffocating. “I don’t even need to ask you to take care of Elyza, ‘cause you two have got each other’s back,” she smiles. She pauses. “And you’ve always had her back, you know. You’re so good to her. You never got credit for that. So thanks for being there.”

Alicia thinks she knows what the doctor is talking about – _who_ the doctor is talking about. And her hearts squeezes painfully at the thought of Clarke being blamed for Lexa, despite everything, despite all the measures Lexa took to protect her – but Lyndsey _knows_ , Raven _knew_ , and her heart pounds not with pain but with gratitude.

“Thank you,” Alicia replies quietly. “Thank you for being there more than I was allowed.” Lyndsey isn’t Raven, the brunette knows, and she doesn’t get that confused, but this is the closest Lexa and Raven will ever have to a conversation now. It’s a worth a try, right?

“My pleasure. Stay safe, strong girl,” Lyndsey grins, and Alicia smirks. Then the doctor taps Mary on the elbow and they move as one, over to Lyndsey’s motorbike. The helmets are on the bike’s handles, and they put them on before Lyndsey shoves her bag in the seat. Then they’re on; Mary wraps her arms around Lyndsey’s waist, the motorcycle roars to life, and they give Alicia, Elyza and Nick a quick wave as they move off through the dismantled wall.

Then they’re off.

Alicia has a lump in her throat – she’ll never get to know if those two girls will last long outside of Santa Maria. She’ll never know if they’ll find their people, or if they’ll survive. She hopes desperately that they do. They deserve a life together, a life in peace, after all the hardship they’ve gone through.

“Right,” Elyza announces, her voice airy but tight as she wanders over to the remaining motorcycle, “you gonna hop in with your brother on Ark or are you gonna ride with me?”

The Californian snaps her head up, only just registering that she’s been talked to. She heard the question, though, and the answer is simple. “Do you even have to ask?” she smiles, following the blonde to the bike. She hoists Elyza’s bag over her shoulder and waits patiently as the Aussie shoves her weapons bag into the seat compartment.

“Good decision, babe,” Elyza grins, snatching the helmet hanging onto the handles and producing it for the brunette. “For you, my lady.”

Alicia huffs. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” the Aussie responds, arching a finely sculpted eyebrow. “I can deal with banging up _this_ pretty face if we crash but it’d be a bloody shame if we messed up yours. Gotta deliver you safe and sound to your mom, haven’t I?”

She’s so dramatic. The Californian rolls her eyes and holds her hands out for Elyza to dump it into her hands. She can’t help but match the smile on the other girl’s face as she puts it on her head, the bike helmet already warm in the summer sun but comfortable. Elyza nods, satisfied, and hops onto the motorbike, kicking the stand off the ground with her boot. Alicia follows – her legs bracket the Australian’s hips and she wraps her arms around Elyza’s waist, just like she saw Mary do. She’s pulled into a symphony of different emotions: excitement, sadness, relief, comfort, all accompanied by the pleased roar of the motorbike as the blonde coaxes it to life.

“Ready?” Elyza questions, voice loud above the engine and muffled to Alicia’s cushioned ears.

The brunette nods. Elyza beams, and the motorbike crawls forward, accelerating and picking up speed when Nick puts the Ark into gear and starts driving behind the two girls.

Alicia twists her head to look at Santa Maria one last time, before the motorbike passes through the gap in the border wall.

Then the Ark passes through the assorted barricade of metal and wood, blocking her view, and they’re off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a slightly grotesque ten minutes of learning how to prepare a chicken before cooking. (What I do for fanfiction, eh?)  
> Also, if you've got any thoughts about the chapter, please put them in the comments below! I'm happy to talk to you about them!
> 
> UPDATE: It's been over a year and a half since I updated, and although you may have given up on this fic, I instead come to give you hope: THIS IS NOT ABANDONED. In fact, tbotm is my absolute favourite story I've written, ever; I've learnt so much from writing it and I've got so much enjoyment out of it. There's just so much to this story, to these characters. Alicia and Elyza feel like close friends now.  
> It's precisely because I love this story so much that I have to take time to rewrite it. Whenever I go through this current version, I can see just how much my writing has improved even within the fic. I started writing this when I had no clue what I was doing; by Chapter 14 I had absolutely everything planned out. But I've learned even more since then! So I have to go back to the start, plan and improve this fic. It's a busy time for me right now, but I've already started the rewriting process, and I'll be resuming it from mid-May onwards. As soon as I've rewritten the chapters up to 14, I'll reupload and start updating again. I don't know how long it will take, but I'm definitely expecting to be making significant progress by summer, and uploading/reuploading within the year. Let me assure you, this fic isn't dead. It's just getting better, and there's so much of the adventure left to read. Thank you so much for your questions and your patience, and I promise I'll make the wait worth it. Much love!

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on paintedviolet.tumblr.com!


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